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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129153">Life In The Clinch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchKey/pseuds/ClutchKey'>ClutchKey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, MMA, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mmau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:47:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>68,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchKey/pseuds/ClutchKey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The fight camp of Team XL is an amalgamation of many fragmented parts, both the binding element and the main point of contrition between the members of it's fractured family, Oscar Pine - a young man out of his element - finds himself invited in to their world, a world of training, fighting, promotion, injury, and all the struggles in between.</p><p>Ruby Rose - A daughter simultaneously struggling to emerge from the shadow of a venerable legacy, while at the same time, ensuring her mother's memory remains.<br/>Yang Xiao Long - The unbeaten dragon, a veritable wall of invincibility until one looks below the surface to find the scared, lonely soul beneath.<br/>Weiss Schnee - A woman escaping the shackles of familial obligation, striving forward to define who and what she is.<br/>Blake Belladonna - Built on a foundation of elusiveness, she wants to be the beacon the faunus look forward to, if only she could stop looking to her past with fearful eyes.<br/>Ilia Amitola - Terrified of blending in or fading away, she battles to be known.</p><p>Enraptured by the daughter of the famed Summer "The Sickle" Rose, could Ruby Rose and her slip-shod semblance of family be what the young man has been seeking in life?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Oscar Pine/Ruby Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gun Shy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oscar is a transplant to the city of Vale, having moved to the big city after spending his youth working the family farm that is now gone.</p><p>Needless to say, the transition hasn't gone smoothly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ten Seconds!”</p><p> </p><p>The twin claps of wood by the timekeeper reverb much more starkly in Ruby’s mind than the desperate shouts from her corner. It was so much more instinctual than having to put together the words and consonants, than identifying the voice of both her father and uncle through the hazy miasma of adrenaline, oxygen deprivation, and the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.</p><p> </p><p>She advances, hands raised despite the exhaustion causing her arms to feel like lead, her opponent throws a kick out to keep the distance, to keep her out of range but it’s slow, cautionary. </p><p> </p><p>To Ruby’s satisfaction, she realizes she still has enough time to clinch the round, she steps to her right as the kick lazily passes her, closing the distance and keeping the tanned woman before her on the defensive and hunched behind her guard with two jabs, one slipping wide and the other landing on the opponent’s guard.</p><p> </p><p>The tell of her opponent’s counter his the lowering, the muscles flexing in her left shoulder as she seeks to throw a hook, Ruby feels a dim satisfaction at the read, even if Emerald had a weakness to telegraph her strikes when pressured, but focuses in as she hunches down, the feeling practised, drilled into her for well over a decade of training.</p><p> </p><p>The Dempsey Roll was a decidedly odd maneuver to break out in a mixed martial arts fight, but as her father and uncle always stressed to Ruby: If it works, it ain’t wrong.</p><p> </p><p>She feels the air displacement ruffle her short hair as Sustrai’s punch fans a few inches high, immediately Ruby shoots up straight, basing her weight onto her right foot and twisting, her fist clenched tightly as the kinetic energy transfers from her hips, up her lithe, muscular frame, and waiting to explode from her fist.</p><p> </p><p>In that moment time seems to slow, and Ruby Rose can see it all in startling clarity, the calm assurance in the punch she was seeking to land, the adrenaline, and the moment between the beats - the rhythm of fighting - had reality crawling.</p><p> </p><p>Fighter’s High was what Ruby had heard it referred to before. A moment where she was able to step outside the realm of her own perception and look at the world as though it were a snapshot.</p><p> </p><p>She could pick out the face of her Uncle Qrow, grasping the cage with scarred knuckles, the water bottle in his right hand crushed against the mesh of octagon, she couldn’t hear his voice, shouting advice and encouragement and yet the young Rose knew implicitly that was what he had to be saying.</p><p> </p><p>Beside her Uncle, her father Taiyang Xiao-Long looked on with an expression less based in the professionalism that would normally be expected of a coach, and instead seemed to gleam with the pride of a father and a mix of… something else, nostalgia, if Ruby had to guess, his blue eyes slightly unfocused as his mind pieced together the fighting of his youngest daughter and <em> someone else. </em></p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s opponent - Emerald Sustrai - had a decidedly more comical reaction in that fraction between seconds, the green-haired woman’s mouthguard was clenched between gnashing teeth, her eyes widened, pupils focused onto Ruby as Emerald’s own failed hook counter threw any semblance of an effective guard out the window. Ruby <em> had her </em> and they both knew it.</p><p> </p><p>Like that, the moment passes and the world starts into action again, the frozen expressions of her ringside, the utter chagrin of Emerald, the crowd going from a near silent tone to an excited wave of applause and baying for spectacle, as well as the camera flashes to accompany them, all starting to animate back into real, genuine movement and noise.</p><p> </p><p>The aura of Fighter’s High drops away, and now all Ruby Rose has to do is enact its purpose. She twists, the ball of her right foot arching off the octagon’s mat to assist in forcing the best possible punch when-</p><p> </p><p>DING!</p><p> </p><p>- Ruby feels her stomach drop as the end of the round is tolled and she pulls the punch off course, stumbling back and away from Emerald who looks relieved that she was saved by the bell. The crowd lets out a cry at what would have been the final blow being pulled short, an audible cue that mirrors the lead dropping in Ruby’s own stomach at the realization.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck!” The curse leaves her mouth, slightly muffled and audibly oblong by her own mouthguard as the ref needlessly steps between her and Sustrai, and instructs Rose to return to her own corner.</p><p> </p><p>‘A couple seconds more’ is the thought that runs through her mind as she turns to her corner and angrily yanks her mouthpiece out. Her father and uncle have stepped in, setting the small wooden stool down which she sullenly drops onto. </p><p> </p><p>“You had her dead-to-rights, brat,” Qrow - her Uncle - notes before holding the water bottle up to her mouth, which she obligingly opens. It’s cool and refreshing, but oh so brief, before he pulls away, “an honest-to-goodness Sickle Shot… just a few more seconds and this fight would have been over.”</p><p> </p><p>The shaggy blond head of her father Taiyang nods in agreement as the two men make space for the cutman to kneel down before Ruby and run an ice pack along the swelling lump just under her right eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately Ruby, you didn’t have those few seconds, so now we’re into the third!”  He holds up three fingers regardless of the fact she’d heard him, simply because he had so much experience in cornering, he knew his daughter was tired, that she was frustrated, and that she’d only gone into the third round once before… he needed to have his advice <em> heard </em>and if that meant he needed to communicate the same point in two, three or seven different ways, that was exactly what he was going to do, “I’m proud of you, you’ve done well so far, and now you’ve got Emerald rattled!”</p><p> </p><p>“Which means she’s going to get even more elusive!” Qrow added, deciding to be the bearer of bad news considering almost two rounds of the fight thus far had been spent trying to chase the dark-skinned woman to actually land some offense and in that pursuit Ruby had been the recipient of some pretty effective shots, “Push the pace, don’t let her know you’re tired! If you see the chance to land anything, throw it! Force her to engage and finish this fight!”</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Finish this fight…’ </em> Ruby frowns as a thought occurs to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Dad-”</p><p> </p><p>“TEN MORE SECONDS!” The ref warns, Ruby quickly stands as Taiyang and Qrow grab the stool and start to make their way out of the cage before the third and final round begins.</p><p> </p><p>“DAD!” The fighter insists, stopping her father before he completely exits the cage, he looks at her with a raised eyebrow “Who’s taken which rounds?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause where Taiyang Xiao-Long’s brow furrows before he steps from the cage and slams it shut, the latch clicking shut with a sense of finality.</p><p> </p><p>“... you’ve got to finish her, Ruby” Taiyang states simply, his mouth set in a determined line as he nods to his daughter.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Emerald’s taken the first two then…’ </em>The thought shakes her more than she’d care to admit as she pops her mouthguard back between her lips and turns her gaze across the cage, where Sustrai is bouncing on the balls of her feet, her corner screaming for the green-haired woman that the fight’s a sure thing so long as she doesn’t get stopped.</p><p> </p><p>“Now is no time to be gun shy, Ruby!” Qrow yells out, his voice as gruff and whisky-soaked as it has ever been, “you’re faster, better conditioned! You got this!”</p><p> </p><p>The ref stands between the two in the cage, he points at Emerald “You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>A single nod as Sustrai stops bouncing and hunches down, arms raised, elbows tucked in to guard her ribs. Wine-colored eyes focused and hyper vigilant on her younger opponent.</p><p> </p><p>“You ready?” </p><p> </p><p>Ruby nods, adopting a southpaw switch stance, her right hand leading out in front while her left hand hovers around her left eyebrow, her base widening and setting her stance lower.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘No time to be gun shy’ </em> she echoes her Uncle’s statement in her head.</p><p> </p><p>“LET’S GO!” The ref shouts.</p><p> </p><p>DING!</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>__________________</p><p> </p><p>Oscar Pine was a young man who liked to keep his life’s issues in perspective. He was the sort of young man that preferred to go through his life low-key, quiet, unobtrusive, all he really wanted in his existence was an honest job, a few good friends, and maybe some time in the future someone to share his life with.</p><p> </p><p>What Oscar Pine did not want or envision at any point during his life or his future, was what was currently happening as he lay on the rough pavement between two red brick apartment buildings, his pockets being frisked as his head rang from striking the ground. All he could hear was a high pitched tone like a phone off the hook while his vision swam with squiggly lines and blotted dots that all but told him he definitely had a concussion.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth tasted of copper and his stomach was doing flips, threatening to empty the sparse contents of the thermos he’d taken to the job he’d been let go from that morning.</p><p> </p><p>On the plus side, his bell had been rung so badly that the pain had the good grace to remain distant and muted, though Oscar had enough life experience at this stage to grimly realize that at some point in the near future, his pain would be billing him extravagantly for it’s momentary courtesy.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth starts to feel flooded with saliva and the world spins in his eyes, the contents of his stomach could be coming up sooner than he expected, he shifts looking to roll onto his side.</p><p> </p><p>“STAY DOWN!”</p><p> </p><p>His efforts are rewarded with a familiar heavy boot to his ribs and Oscar goes fetal on instinct, the rush of bile, water and canned cream of mushroom ejecting out of his mouth at the blow to stain a few centimeters of pavement and - amusingly - the jean-clad leg of one of his assailants.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh what the- REALLY!?” The harsh condemnation is indignant and disgusted, which gives the more vindictive part of Oscar’s currently battered ego a good chuckle even as the attacker lays in another kick to his ribs out of anger.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop man, we got what we wanted,” Says the second attacker, the one Oscar hadn’t seen as he stalked home, sullen and pondering how far he could stretch the contents of his last payday from the docks, Oscar can see the second man’s feet march into view, standing between his battered form and the the assailant doing a number on his ribs, “let’s go, guy’s got nothing else in here anyways”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause as Attacker One and Attacker Two seem to have some private, unspoken debate about what to do next, and despite knowing better, Oscar still felt those waning sparks of hope that internal debate led the two men to seek forgiveness, return his money, and maybe slip him an extra hundred lien so he can go see a doctor.</p><p> </p><p>The slap of his faux-leather wallet hitting the ground - and vomit - in front of his face confirmed that wasn’t going to happen when he saw that it was indeed picked clean of any currency, fortunately the two men appeared to have the good grace to leave his identification and library card where it was… would wonders never cease?</p><p> </p><p>He waits and listens as the footsteps of his assailants fade away, the spots in his vision and the inertia brought on by getting bombed into the ground dissipate bit by bit as he calms his breathing, he counts backwards from thirty in his mind, making his inhales and exhales slow and deep despite the pain that mere moments ago was dull and muted beginning to announce themselves much more vividly.</p><p> </p><p>At thirty, he pushes himself up, hand scooping up his wallet before stumbling backwards to rest against the red brick of one of the apartment buildings. Against all hope he checks the wallet one last time hoping there was some money the two assailants hadn’t absconded with and his hope is rewarded with… nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar sighs as he tucks the wallet into his pocket and hunches over, his hand checking his ribs, he digs into them periodically around where he was kicked, wincing but coming away satisfied that he probably doesn’t have any fractures or breaks. Not like he’d know for sure, he wasn’t particularly well educated, but he’d watched a season and a half of a medical drama at a friend’s house when he was fifteen and felt like he’d know otherwise.</p><p> </p><p><em> Drip </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The spot of crimson that appears on the pavement below him is startling, and Pine responds by looking straight up, hoping not to see something horrific dangling over the roof of the apartment building.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, there was nothing up there.</p><p> </p><p>Unluckily, the action caused him another wave of nausea and he found himself hunched over yet again, hands braced against the brick and mortar while dry-heaving at the pavement. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Drip. Drip. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, that’s me…’ The realization hits Oscar in a detached, bemused sort of way as he continues to wretch, stomach clenching in gastrointestinal agony as it seeks something - <em> anything </em> - to expel in response. A few seconds pass and the mild droplets of blood start to run together into a larger, congealing mass.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar Pine was a young man who liked to keep his life in perspective.</p><p> </p><p>His perspective was telling him that this was definitely a low point in his twenty one years on Remnant thus far.</p><p> </p><p>Not to say his life was spent basking in the highs of life, he’d been born to poor farmers, watched them die due to a particularly awful case of seasonal flu that both his father and mother lacked the money or health care to combat, and then transitioned to farming for another member of the family whom the farm had been left to in his parent’s will.</p><p> </p><p>Not exactly a strong contender for the happiest childhood Oscar could imagine, but that was just life, and for the majority of his youth, teens and young adulthood, growing up in the care of his Aunt and tending the farm was about as pleasant as it could be.</p><p> </p><p>Right up until it ceased to be.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar couldn’t blame his Aunt for selling the farm, she WAS getting on in years and deserved at least a few years of quiet enjoyment before moving onto the next stage of life, and despite not having any legal obligation to, she’d had the grace to give her nephew enough money to start the next chapter of his life.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Move to Vale. Get an apartment. Get a girlfriend. Get a job. Live the life. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It all sounded so easy in hindsight.</p><p> </p><p>Vale might have been considered the nicest major population center in Remnant, but it had many stark and brutal lessons that it imparted upon Oscar without mercy.</p><p> </p><p>Rent prices were atrocious, especially considering Oscar had no previous renter’s history or a roommate or co-signer with decent credit or a boatload of spare lien to throw at any landlords to smooth over their apprehension. The young man basically had to settle on what could generously be called a bachelor’s apartment in a slum of a building where the hot water worked maybe thirty percent of the time.</p><p> </p><p>Getting a scroll to communicate with his Aunt from time to time was also another ordeal, his mail was sent to a communal box for the building he lived in and any bills or paperwork sent there had a tendency to be rooted through by the various junkies, thieves and ne’er-do-wells that he politely called <em> ‘neighbours’ </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The alarming asterisk to finally getting a scroll was finding that the number his Aunt had sketched onto a note for him was either disconnected or had never been hooked up to begin with. On good days he could talk himself into believing that his Aunt had found herself a nice home outside of the range of any of Remnant’s CCT relays.</p><p> </p><p>Most days he wondered how brutally the realization hit his Aunt that she’d been tricked into selling Pine Farms for a pittance and was now likely in just as much financial and mortal peril as he found himself in.</p><p> </p><p>Finding work in Vale was perhaps the most disheartening aspect of Oscar’s plan to enter the next stage of his life. Oscar Pine held no bones about it, he was possessed of a great work ethic… a lifetime of being the only hand on a family farm had that kind of effect, but when it came time to hand out resumes and fill in applications in a large population center? All that experience counted for nothing.</p><p> </p><p>They wanted to know how many words per minute he could type. Oscar could keep a plethora of chickens alive and safe from natural predators.</p><p> </p><p>They wanted to know if he could drive a forklift or operate a front loader. Oscar could hitch a plow to a mule and plough acreage until his hands bled.</p><p> </p><p>They wanted to know if he could handle part time hours and wages. Oscar was used to putting in eighty-hour work weeks.</p><p> </p><p>As the weeks wore on and the walls of his apartment continued to close in, his standards started to get lower and lower, his interviews started to sound more and more desperate, his relaxed country drawl sounding more strained and muted in his ears as he tried to suppress the bright-eyed yokel he’d arrived to Vale as and tried to appear more how he saw the locals: muted, subdued, keen to eat shit and like it as long as they got hired.</p><p> </p><p>The job he’d finally managed to score was dock work, and he’d approached the job with the type of aplomb that had many of his less-than-enthused coworkers hoping he’d walk off the pier and disappear in the murky depths.</p><p> </p><p>The work was agony, having been sitting in an idle gear for the better part of three months, but he didn’t mind. He was built to work, and from the sounds of it, the particular warehouse at the dock he was employed with was supposed to have a long-standing contract with the Schnee Dust Company.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar was SUPPOSED to have job security.</p><p> </p><p>That was until this morning, when the contract the SDC had with his employer was terminated because of a breach of contract… or some such thing that seemed well above Oscar’s paygrade.</p><p> </p><p>His last paycheck consisted of roughly five-hundred lien, one of the shoremen had instructed some of the younger and more naive workers that they should take the cash payout option in case the warehouse owner declared bankruptcy and their wages vanished into the ether. Pine had felt some smug satisfaction at the pay window, as the clerk counted the money out while the manager in the background tried to convince the young man that a check would be just as good.</p><p> </p><p>Bleeding on the pavement moments after watching the entirety of his final pay being carried off by the duo of bastards that had beat the shit out of him made Oscar feel like a real idiot in hindsight.</p><p> </p><p>A ragged sigh works its way from his throat as he idly regards the blood dispassionately, he couldn’t just stay there, leaning against the brick and bleeding all day. He had a job hunt to start… and a landlord to grovel at the feet of until such a time as he had money coming in again.</p><p> </p><p>He grabs the hem of the hoodie he was wearing - a University of Patch logo emblazoned across the front that he’d gotten at a steal from the second-hand store about three blocks from his apartment - and yanks it over his head. Wadding it up, he takes a few moments to dab the cloth and check for blood until he locates the rough area of the cut, then applies pressure on it.</p><p> </p><p>Looking down at the t-shirt he’d worn under the hoodie, his breath hitches as he remembers the fact that he’d put on one of his father’s old shirts that morning - a compromise he was forced to make between doing an extra load of laundry OR eating the previous week - and might get blood on it. Instinctually he presses the rapidly dampening cotton of the hoodie tighter to his wound, determined to not let one of the few cherished possessions that reminded him of his parents, stained.</p><p> </p><p>It was a light cream-colored tee that he all but swam in, having grown up to have but a fraction of his father’s hulking frame, across the front was an impressive iron-on graphic in shades of black and red, of a pixie like women hunched forward in a fighting stance, her blood red eyes matching the blood-red shattered moon in the background. Along the bottom, in midnight-black were the stenciled words: //<b> <em>Summer “The Sickle” Rose//</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to touch the shirt with his likely bloody fingers, Oscar still tries to see if he’d managed to drip on the sleeves or collar of the shirt, after a few seconds of near panic he feels his pulse slow and comes to the conclusion he’d gotten lucky, then a spike of anger that he’d even dared to wear such a thing to work…</p><p> </p><p>‘What were you thinking Oscar?’ He mentally berates himself as he starts to stalk out of the alley, ‘The docks wouldn’t have treated pa’s favorite shirt any kinder than the local violent punk population…’</p><p> </p><p>Walking out of the alley and onto the sidewalk proper, the mood seems to mirror Oscar’s foul mood as he berates himself, the incoming cloud front and the elevated breeze indicative of the early fall in Vale. He makes it down a block before another bout of nausea and dizziness has him stumbling over to the frontage of a currently closed liquidator where he braces the hand not holding his makeshift bandage against the glass.</p><p> </p><p>“... fuuuuuuuuuck” he rasps out angrily, the indignity of it all starting to weigh on him, he looks up to catch his reflection in the glass and has to ignore the instinct to sneer at the person he sees.</p><p> </p><p>He was a lean man when he was eating healthy, home-cooked meals, but now he looked skinny, like any sense of definition and musculature had been stripped away from him along with his pride by the city. His eyes were rimmed by dark circles and his dark crown hair, normally manageable, looked downright feral on his head. He pulls the sweater away from his head cautiously to gauge the wound and finds himself wincing.</p><p> </p><p>‘I need stitches… I don’t have <em> money </em> for stitches’ His mind throws out helplessly as he eyeballs the near inch-and-a-half wound just above his left ear.</p><p> </p><p>Frustrated, he lets his forehead thud against the glass… which was a startlingly short-sighted action for a victim of VERY recent head trauma to take. Oscar finds himself stumbling backwards, worn sneakers squeaking in protest as he tries to drag his feet to stop himself until he manages to keep his momentum from carrying him into the way of any hypothetical vehicles looking to put the exclamation point on his day and killing him outright.</p><p> </p><p>Ensuring that he has his feet under him again, he stands up straight and starts to move when he stops, shifting his left foot slightly and hearing a crinkle. After a pause he looks down.</p><p> </p><p>“... huh” is the only thing he can think to exclaim as he spots the twenty lien note under the sole of his worn out sneaker. It felt like it was too good to be true, like the final, cruel precursor to having a piano land on him or a gas main running beneath the sidewalk to rupture and vaporize him from existence.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar casts several wary glances around, after a few moments of not seeing any possible danger a long sigh escapes him. Today had been a bad day, by all extents, but there was no need to expect some cosmic entity to drop down and fuck his world up any more than it already had been,</p><p> </p><p>With that, he bends over and scoops the lien up before continuing his venture back to his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>The walk takes a short fifteen minutes, so naturally, five minutes into it the threatening storm decides to make its presence felt. Oscar for his part doesn’t even blink or break stride, instead electing to mutter a stream of curses that would have made any of his previous coworkers blush.</p><p> </p><p>Another five minutes of walking and he can see the cracked, mint green exterior of his apartment building.</p><p> </p><p>‘Home sweet hovel’ his mind intones humorlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Another minute and he stops walking, letting the windswept rain pelt against him violently. Despite the day’s trials it wasn’t even noon yet, and he didn’t want to go home, to the shoddily prepared drywall and shoddy electrical, the tepid running water and roaches scurrying underfoot.</p><p> </p><p>It disheartened Oscar to realize that he had no place else to be.</p><p> </p><p>He casts a look around, squinting against the wind and rain for anything else to go, to afford some sort of stimulation other than crawling inside his own head to think about how terribly things had gone for him.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let’s see… pawn shop, liquor store, gun store, condemned liquor store,,, oh…’ A squat, grey brick building near the end of a perpendicular street to the one he was on catches his eye, the neon out front a more palatable green than the gaudy yellows and pinks of a lot of other local shops, he squints and tries to bring the sign out front into focus.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>//Glynda’s Grillhouse//</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>He feels his free hand playing with the freshly found twenty lien bill before he’s aware of the conscious decision to grab it. He glances down at the note… surmising exactly what he would be able to afford. Beer and a burger? Two beers and a burger? Three beers and maybe be afforded the opportunity to lick a dirty plate that may have once <em> held </em> a burger?</p><p> </p><p>‘<em> Whatever, </em> figure it out when you get there’ With that final, chiding remark he crosses the street and makes his way down an additional block and a half, soaked, clenched lien in one hand and a bloody sweater in the other.</p><p> </p><p>The door swings in to reveal a pub somewhere in between the grades of greasy dive and out-of-favor chain establishment. The carpeting is green, the worn furniture has the good grace to be oak, and the beautiful woman behind the bar is too busy paying attention to the television to give him an appraising look.</p><p> </p><p>All told, Oscar approved of it.</p><p> </p><p>He casts a look around for any servers to seat him and instead turns up a sign telling him to seat himself. He takes a quick glance around, weighing his option before deciding on a small two-person booth near the washroom, away from the few other patrons that looked content to stick to their own devices. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you!” A severe voice calls out as he makes it a few steps towards his destination, he turns to find himself staring into the severe face of the blonde woman who had previously been taken with the content on the television.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh… y-yes?” He can almost hear himself screaming internally at the break in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not really in the habit of running an Emergency Room, kid” The blonde woman’s severe gaze trails up to look at the bloody sweater pressed to his head and something he can’t quite identify runs across her expression.</p><p> </p><p>Oh right.</p><p> </p><p>Most places of business wouldn’t really appreciate a <em> literally </em> bloody customer walking in off the street looking to be served.</p><p> </p><p>“S-sorry,” Oscar responds lamely, turning towards the door before stopping again and considering what other options he had at the point before turning to the blonde woman again, “Alright, I understand if you don’t want me here but... I got brained and fleeced on my way home from being fired at the docks today, I literally found my last twenty on the sidewalk before coming here and I would love a beer…”</p><p> </p><p>The silence that followed that would have cowed him any other day, considering the bartender had the type of glare that would make most sensible people shrivel up into a ball, but frankly Oscar was pretty far from thinking about the possibility of the woman in question dragging a bat out from behind the lacquered counter and finishing him off.</p><p> </p><p>Another moment goes by and she cracks, letting out a sigh before pointing towards the washrooms.</p><p> </p><p>“Go get cleaned up, I’ll bring the med kit so you can bandage up whatever you got tucked under that,” she gestures to the wadded up, bloodstained hoodie, “don’t get blood on anything or anyone… and a twenty note will get you a beer, burger and fries”</p><p> </p><p>The shredded remains of Oscar’s pride barely restrain him from falling to his knees and grovelling, instead he nods politely, uttering an emphatic thanks before making his way to the washroom.</p><p> </p><p>Flicking the lights on and locking the door, he’s greeted with a small, but surprisingly well-kept washroom. The toilet stall and urinal crammed together on one side of the room while the mirror, sink and paper towel dispenser sit adjacent to the door. Quickly snatching several sheets of the paper towel Oscar turns the hot water of the sink up before setting his sweater down on the side of it and doing a second assessment of the damage.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily it seems as though the bleeding has stopped, but the scabbing had definitely grabbed hold of the hair on either side of it and would be uncomfortable over the next few days. It was hard to pick out where the blood had dried into the dark locks anyways, but he needed to get it out of his hair regardless, so looping some towel around the tip of his index finger and then soaking it under the hot water, he started to dab gently away at the aching cut and surrounding area.</p><p> </p><p>A knock at the door startles him into remembering that the bartender was going to bring him a first-aid kit.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s me, kid. Open up!” She calls, even out of view the words themselves seem to lash out like a command, making him both wince and respect every syllable. Turning from the mirror, he unlocks the door.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t get the chance to turn the handle however, as she’s inviting herself in the moment the lock is disengaged. She kicks the door shut with her heel as she steps in and suddenly Oscar is incredibly aware that the beautiful, severe, blonde bombshell of a bartender is very much in his personal space.</p><p> </p><p>‘Eyes forward, Oscar’ He reminds himself, forcing himself to keep contact with the woman’s pale-green eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold this,” She <em> commands </em> as she thrusts the first aid kit into his hands before gripping his chin and turning his head to offer herself the best viewpoint to view the fresh, involuntary hole in his head, “... brick?”</p><p> </p><p>“The pavement… I think?” He responds to the inquiry as she motions with her eyes to keep still and hold his position while she opens the first aid kit in his grasp.</p><p> </p><p>“You think?” The blonde woman questions as she pulls out a bottle of disinfectant and a couple of swabs, shaking the bottle absently while she keeps her eyes trained on the cut.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, uh… I got hit and a few minutes kind of blurred together after that, maybe it was whatever the guy behind me hit me with…” A light shrug as Oscar felt his nerves go up as the blonde uncapped the disinfectant and tipped it to liberally coat one of the cotton swabs… this was undoubtedly going to suck, he lets out a shaky laugh, “... or it was the pavement”</p><p> </p><p>The blonde notices the shakiness in Oscar’s breath as he eyes the now soaking cotton swab in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey kid, you should look at my breasts right now” She states casually</p><p> </p><p>“Oh oka- wait, what!?” Oscar barely has time to exclaim in shock at the statement the bartender made out of nowhere as he turns to gawk at her before she solidly plants the disinfected swab right up against that cut and holds it there.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment of solid eye contact with the blonde’s humored grin to really register the sting running along the cut, which graduated to a throbbing, lancing burn across his skin as the alcohol content quickly washed away bacteria</p><p> </p><p>“MHmhmhmhmhm...” He grumbles against the pain, teeth gritting and struggling not to shout or say anything that might cause the bartender to change her mind and toss his out the door, but still, this shit <em> hurt. </em></p><p> </p><p>The blonde woman, for her part, looks like she’s mildly impressed that he held his tongue at all. A moment ticks by and she pulls the swab away before tossing it into the nearby trash can.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, was that a bitch move?” The bartender asks in a sing-song voice as she grabs a small tube of cream designed to aid healing and staunch bleeding.</p><p> </p><p>“If I said yes would I find myself standing outside in a hurry?” Oscar manages to grumble out in a barely peaceable tone, earning a laugh from the blonde woman.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, now THAT would definitely be what the kids call a bitch move,” She admits as she squeezes out a globule onto her index finger and smears it along the cut, “the name’s Glynda though, only my friends call me bitch”</p><p> </p><p>This woman - Glynda - had a way about her that was throwing Oscar for a loop. He’d grown up in a small farming community, the few people there were built sturdy and tough, but when it came to interpersonal relations and mannerisms, everything was very succinct and polite… bland even.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda alone would have every person he’d ever known back on the farm so scandalized by mere conversation they’d probably try to set fire to her under suspicion of witchcraft.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Oscar Pine… my friends just call me… Oscar Pine?” The quirked eyebrow he receives from Glynda him flush red in embarrassment at how lamely he’d finished that string of words he was passing off as speech, “... I uh, don’t have any friends… so I guess just call me Osc-y’know what it might be best if I stopped talking now”</p><p> </p><p>“You can keep going if you want to,” The bartender chuckled, “it would be quite the sight to watch someone literally cringe themselves to death”</p><p> </p><p>He groans in embarrassment even as the blonde chuckles at his discomfort. Glynda hums to herself as she unravels gauze, pulling the young man’s head down so she can wrap the wound securely.</p><p> </p><p>“Aaaaaand there,” She steps back, admiring her work as she puts the leftover gauze and the rest of the medical supplies back into the kit and closes the lid, “now… burger, beer and fries, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nods, lamely holding up the crumple twenty lien, but Glynda holds her hand up to refuse it, earning a curious look from the young man.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah no, that money’s covered in blood…” He winces at the mild disgust in her voice as she turns to the sink and starts running her fingers under the water, lathering up her fingers with the lavender-scented soap from the dispenser, “guess I’ll just have to bite the bullet and comp this one, Oscar Pine”</p><p> </p><p>The gratitude stays stuck on the tip of his tongue as he’s worried his voice just might crack or stutter, he nods at her as her green-eyed reflection catches his in the bathroom mirror before she shuts the faucet off and grabs a paper towel to dry her hands. She brushes past Oscar to the door, using the towel to turn the handle before turning around to regard him with another look.</p><p> </p><p>“Get cleaned up and find a seat,” She turns to leave but stops herself as another thought occurs to her, “oh, and be careful while you do so, you wouldn’t want to stain that shirt…”</p><p> </p><p>The door shuts with a click leaving Oscar even more bewildered than before at the bartender’s kind actions. How could she know he had such an emotional attachment to his dad’s old shirt? Was she just a fan of Summer Rose? Was she flirting?</p><p> </p><p>‘Don’t be stupid, there is no feasible reality where a woman that looks like that gives you the time of day’ He chides himself, turning to regard the mess left in the wake of his mild medical treatment. </p><p> </p><p>He turns the faucet cold and runs his bloody hoodie beneath it, trying to get what little he can out of it before grimly acknowledging that the shirt was now at the end of it’s days before hucking it in the trash in disgust. Next he grabs several paper towels and starts wiping away the excess water and blood droplets surrounding the sink, with that complete, he washes his own hands and then exits the washroom, taking a seat where he’d originally planned and feeling… not better, but at least less starkly jilted by the day’s events.</p><p> </p><p>A couple minutes pass before a woman, not too much older than Oscar himself, sets a tray before him with the promised meal. The burger is stacked high with pickles, onions and lettuce and the meat patty all but glistens in spite of the low lighting, the scent making his stomach audibly growl, which earns a giggle from the server.</p><p> </p><p>Realizing he’d been gawking at the meal he forces his eyes up to meet the server, whose shoulder-length brown hair framed a soft smile.</p><p> </p><p>“U-uh… thank you! Geez that was fast!” Oscar winces at the sound of his gushing, looking over the server’s shoulder he can pick out Glynda, now back behind the bar, shaking her head at the young man’s exclamation.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, Glynda had me call the order in when you first went to the washroom so I can assure you the burger is done properly,” She comments off handedly, eyes gauging the gauze wrapped around his head “... nice headband and all, but I don’t think it suits you…”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar snort laughs at that observation then quickly slaps both of his hands to his face to mask his embarrassment. The women in this pub seemed uniformly designed to keep him on his back foot!</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah, what kind of beer do you want?” The server inquires.</p><p> </p><p>“I will have…” Oscar thinks, his hands dropping away from his face as he realizes he has no worldly idea about beer-brands, his personal favorites having been <em> free </em> when offered by any of the neighbours he’d been helping back on the farmstead, “... whatever your recommendation is”</p><p> </p><p>Despite the auspices of sounding like a flirty comment, the defeated tone the comment gets sighed out in seems to keep the server from quirking an eyebrow at it. She nods and walks over to the bar, Oscar watches as she exchanges a few words with Glynda, who seems to chuckle at something exchanged between the two before she sets a pint glass of amber liquid up on the published oak bartop. The server returns with the beer a moment later.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you are, my recommended <em> I-don’t-drink-beer-so-this-is-Glynda’s-recommendation </em> beer!” She states, tone saccharin-sweet despite the air of teasing lilting at either end, making Oscar consider if curling up into a ball and hiding under the table was a viable option for escaping the blush on his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Th-thank you, uh…” He trails off, finding himself at a loss.</p><p> </p><p>“Amber, now enjoy your meal, you look like you need it” Not waiting for a response or him to offer his name, she spins on her heel and walks back to the bar to sit by the bartender.</p><p> </p><p>Another grumble from his stomach drags his attention back to the food and he wastes no further time by digging in, the lightly toasted bun slightly crumbling where his fingers make contact with it as he lifts it to his mouth and bites in.</p><p> </p><p>The burger is gone in short order and Oscar leans back to seemingly take his first breath since before the first bite, he grabs the beer and sips it, a moment passes before a soft belch escapes him and then he turns his attention to the fries.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He’s only partially aware of the pub’s entrance admitting more customers as he gets to work on the battered potatoes, he reaches across the booth to snag the salt from it’s cubby, sprinkling the seasoning on he resumes eating with a fervor that - were he in a rational state - he’d list as being just shy of ‘starving island castaway’ but far ahead of ‘runway model fasting’.</p><p> </p><p>Regrettably though, voracity could only take him so far and he finds himself finally stopping to have a breather with half the serving of fries to go, Oscar sips from his pint glass again to bring moisture back to his mouth before he leans back against the booth seat and sighs, head and eyes turning to the ceiling but his focus elsewhere.</p><p> </p><p>‘Maybe I can try the Vacuo shipping docks, see if they’re looking for a few more hands’ He muses idly, not truly believing the hopefulness in his own thought.</p><p> </p><p>After kicking around a few other long shots to start his job hunt at, he becomes keenly aware that someone is standing just a few feet away from him. He lets out a yawn before lowering his gaze down to the person before him… and finds himself pinned by the stare of yet another woman.</p><p> </p><p>She looks to be about the same age as him, fair-skin marred slightly by the yellowing bruise by her right eye but otherwise flawless. Her eyes are a gleaming <em> silver </em> and focused not on his face, but on his chest, the intensity in them so startling that he felt that he might combust at any moment under the scrutiny.</p><p> </p><p>The woman doesn’t seem to notice that he’s taken notice of his presence and Oscar chooses to follow her gaze, only to land on the press-on design of the Summer Rose t-shirt. His eyes trailing back up to the mysterious woman’s face, Oscar can’t help but feel a mild sense of recognition.</p><p> </p><p>“U-um, can I help you?” He manages to ask, finally getting over the mollifyingly long period of awkward silence.</p><p> </p><p>The woman before him however was very obviously not expecting the silence to be broken, at least that’s what Oscar gleans from her reaction as the woman basically jumped with a start, a garbled curse slipping out shrilly before she hunches down, hands on knees to steady her breathing.</p><p> </p><p>“... you okay?” The words leave his lips touched with genuine concern to match the genuine confusion he felt.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah, totally…” The woman nods before standing up straight, “... so, sorry for staring, I kinda zoned out there, didn’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>That earns a chuckle from him “You were somewhere between Atlas and Vacuo, cuz you definitely weren’t here for about a minute”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh” For the first time that day, Oscar wasn’t the one covering his face in embarrassment, he tries to reign in the smugness in his smile, “So now that I’ve uh, managed to totally stick the landing on first impressions…”</p><p> </p><p>To Oscar’s increasing confusion she flops into the booth seat opposite him, eyes focused on the table.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s… a really nice shirt” She states, barely at a volume he can hear.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Oscar feels that she’s not going for flattery with that statement, “it belonged to my father…”</p><p> </p><p>Her expression at that statement drops from nervous to near stricken, teeth chewing on her bottom lip as her fingers drum nervously on the table between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Was…” it’s not a question as it leaves her lips, rather a statement of her own understanding behind the connotations of that statement, “... s-sorry for bringing it up”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Oscar reassures her, berating himself for bringing whatever good mood their might have between them down, he takes another mouthful of beer, restraining his wince at the fact that it had sat long enough to begin to warm, “It was a long time ago, there’s no need to look like you kicked over his head stone”</p><p> </p><p>The chuckle he forced out at his inappropriate comment dies out when he realizes that it did nothing to break the fugue of the woman across from him. He clears his throat to get her attention, forcing himself to hold her wet silver eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t even know this lady, why do I care?’ The question rings in his head, but it’s insincere, hollow, figures he’d be a sucker for three different pretty women in one day.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, it was my dad’s favorite shirt, buuuut it’s still just a shirt,” Oscar states seriously, looking down at it to view the red-and-black graphic over the cotton-blend cream of the shirt itself, “... you a fan of Summer Rose or something?”</p><p> </p><p>The woman’s sniffle causes him to jerk his gaze back up to those silver eyes, fearful that he might have greatly offended the midnight-haired woman. Luckily the shadows of a smile assuage some of his fears as she gives a short, shy nod.</p><p> </p><p>“I should hope so…” she trails off a second, “... after all, I <em> am </em> her daughter”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar chose that moment to of course spill the remainder of his beer on his crotch.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Lull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ruby finds herself in a position to attain something she's sought for years, meanwhile, Yang, Glynda and Qrow do their level best to lift the young woman out of any post-loss emotional slump.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been fifteen minutes since the thunderstorm had started, and nine minutes since Ruby, her sister Yang, and her Uncle Qrow had pulled into the small five-car lot behind Glynda’s Grillhouse. The car idling softly as they waited for the torrent outside to ebb enough to where they could run inside without getting soaked through to the bone. The soft hum of mild heat keeping the windows from fogging up as both Yang and Qrow debated an issue that Ruby herself wasn’t all that keen to think about right now.</p><p> </p><p>“She <em> had her </em> , Qrow! You know it, I know it, <em> Emerald </em> knows it, and the judges should have known it too,” Yang was of course espousing an argument from the point-of-view of someone blinded by familial bonds, despite the fact that at this point there was simply no point in arguing, the judgement had been made and unless the post-fight blood analysis proved that Emerald had done something untoward in the work-up to their encounter in Vacuo the previous evening, the unanimous loss Ruby had suffered would stick for good, “those judges should have known it too!”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s sigh was lighter, hidden beneath the exhausted one that poured forth from her Uncle’s throat as he levelled his elder niece with a withering glance. The younger of the Xiao Long-Rose sisters would likely be following suit, but she’s got her attention split between a repeat of the same argument she’d spent almost the past twenty-four hours repeating in her own mind - only voiced by two close family members - and the rough sketches in her hands. Theoretical designs she and one of her peers had been working on for her first official shirt through the Remnant Fighting League.</p><p> </p><p>“I keep telling you, Firecracker, the judges can’t hand down a conclusion passed down by what <em> could </em> have happened if Ruby’d only had five more seconds, they have to hand down their judgement on the actual fight they witnessed, and while it stings, your father, me… <em> everyone </em> saw Emerald dictate almost every second of that fight and counter with effective strikes,” Qrow rubs his hands across his face in frustration, glaring out at the sheets of rain battering the front windshield of Yang’s weathered four-door sedan before casting a critical eye at the blond behind the wheel, “... and if I hear about you going off about that judgement during your next interview, I swear I’ll revoke your cheat days for the next three months”</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, just over the sheaf of paper titled <em> //Baby Sickle// </em> that Ruby has already judged to be disqualified from her approval pool, she witnesses Yang level a grade-a, weapons-grade pout at her Uncle. After a moment of Qrow staring unimpressed at her, the elder sister’s shoulders sag before she acquiesces.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, no grumbling about the RFL’s shit judges again…” Yang drones, but there’s enough gravitas in her voice to carry her intentions to follow through on her word.</p><p> </p><p>“Because why?” Qrow needles, expression unchanging as he keeps his niece locked in his judgemental stare.</p><p> </p><p>“Because,” Yang starts with a sigh, turning in the driver’s seat to face him directly, “one day I’m going to inevitably have a fight that I’m not able to finish, and if I’ve alienated RFL’s shit judges I’ll be proverbially fucked no matter how much ass I’ve kicked”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby manages to raise a new design before her eyes and hide her smile as her sister looks into the mirror to check on her, this one of her chibi-fied and standing upon a pile of bleached skulls, her cartoonified six-ounce gloves raised above her head, wrapped around the handle of an exaggeratedly serrated scythe…</p><p> </p><p>‘This is going in the win column’ The younger sister thinks amusedly, knowing the sketch wasn’t one of her own, but rather came from her Team XL cohort’s shockingly fun imagination.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Rubes,” Yang mutters, pulling her from her mild amusement, “you’re prolly sick of hearing this conversation by now.”</p><p> </p><p>That earns a dry chuckle from Ruby.</p><p> </p><p>“Yang, I was sick of it the moment I heard the judgement last night,” Ruby states blandly, but the smile somewhere between forced and understanding mitigates any bite the statement might have, “At this point? It’s almost white noise, like static, like Uncle Qrow’s grumbling”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>“...ooor this rain!” She trails off, looking at the glass to watch the torrent continue.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m sorry regardless,” The blond reiterates, pointedly amused by Qrow grumbling to himself about <em> ungrateful nieces </em> beside her, “you looking forward to your post-fight meal, at least?”</p><p> </p><p>“What a silly question, I’ve been looking forward to this since the eight-weeks out point,” Ruby laughs, referring to the general length of her pre-fight extensive training cycle, “I’m more worried if Glynda’s disappointed in me though”</p><p> </p><p>Her big sister instincts kicking in, Yang reaches back to place a reassuring hand on Ruby’s knee, giving it a squeeze as her lilac eyes crinkle with a reassuring smile.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon Ruby, Glynda can be a <em> little </em> critical, but she’s not heartless,” Her voice comes out in a soft laugh, “besides, for your second fight actually on an RFL show, you had some excellent poise, especially against someone like Sustrai… and you know how much it boils my boots to admit Sustrai’s actually pretty good in that cage”</p><p> </p><p>It was several points made in that easy, simple way that her elder sister had that finally lowered the hunch in Ruby’s shoulders. While the previous night had been far from her first official bout in mixed martial arts, it was her sophomore outing in the pinnacle league of RFL’s strongly contended Bantamweight division and she didn’t get knocked out or submitted.</p><p> </p><p>The fact that it was against a noted stalwart of Grimm Camp was something of a sore-spot in her subconscious, but like her sister had stated, Emerald Sustrai wasn’t exactly a soup can opponent. She held the distinction of being… well, <em> elite </em> wasn’t the thought, but a strong gatekeeper with flashes of brilliance that had a noted history of being an elusive counter-striker.</p><p> </p><p>The loss stung, Ruby would admit that, but it wasn’t a loss that she should feel particularly ashamed of it, if Glynda brought it up.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey kiiiids,” Qrow intones with his best facsimile of a sing-songy voice, “rain’s let up, let’s get in there, I can hear the bar calling my name.”</p><p> </p><p>Yang and Ruby exchange an eye roll but do as he suggests, Ruby tucking the designs back into a manila envelope and tucking it underneath her jacket as she steps out into the light drizzle the earlier storm had left in its wake. Yang hops out of the driver’s side door after killing the engine, zipping her worn brown-leather bomber jacket up before venturing over to join her sister and uncle.</p><p> </p><p>“Any good designs?” Yang’s chin juts out at the folder only slightly protruding from inside Ruby’s half-zipped windbreaker.</p><p> </p><p>“One of Weiss’ is the front-runner so far,” The younger sister chuckles upon noting the arched brow on both her sibling’s and uncle’s faces, “I have to ask though, is the whole <em> nickname </em> thing something I should really do?”</p><p> </p><p>As they walk both Qrow and Yang chuckle at the younger woman’s hesitant inquiry, no doubt realizing that several of the suggestions made at the gym and that she’d been workshopping online had most likely caused her more worry and stress in the past few weeks than her actual fight had.</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely,” Qrow states as they make it around to the front of Glynda’s pub, his dark-grey locks catching the breeze of the receding storm, “the moment you became a professional fighter, you became a brand, Ruby. More than a person, more than a fighter, you’re literally your own, consolidated corporation”</p><p> </p><p>This earns an exhausted groan as Yang’s long legs carry her to the pub’s front door first, where she stops, holding the door closed while turning to grin at her sister.</p><p> </p><p>“Frankly Rubes, I’m amazed it’s taken us this long to insist you decide on some sorta branding for your career,” The boisterous blond jams a thumb into her own chest, “I had <em> my </em>first nickname like a week after my first amateur fight!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yaaaaaang,” Ruby levels an unimpressed glare at her elder sister, “you have more nicknames now than I have contacts on my scroll… one of them is <em> literally </em> just ‘The Blond That Has More Fun’...”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t hate, that shirt was a bestseller!” The elder sister laughs as she pulls the door open and politely holds it open while Ruby and Qrow pass through.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s eyes passing into the low-lighting of the familiar pub require no adjustment having come in from the overcast grey that it was outside, so the wave of nostalgia that hits her is immediate and welcome. Glynda’s was a place that she’d been coming to since before her earliest memories and in all that time the changes that had occurred there had happened from wear, tear, and age as opposed to societal progress. The jukebox still ran off of lien coins, the green felt of the pool tables had faded because of age, and the backdrop behind the dart boards only got more numerous because her Uncle Qrow’s aim only got worse the farther into the sauce he was.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the years passing by, it was comforting in it’s familiarity, and nothing was more comforting in this environment than the owner she spotted rushing out from behind the bar to walk towards her, steps quick and measured, pale green eyes electric with intensity as it focused on the bruise still healing beneath Ruby’s right eye before focusing on her face as a whole and softening considerably.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” The statement barely leaves Glynda’s mouth before she throws her arms around Ruby’s neck and pulls the shorter woman into a tight hug, “you did great…”</p><p> </p><p>The younger Xiao Long-Rose sister enjoys the motherly affectations far too much to be embarrassed by the gushing attention and instead hides her sad smile in the taller woman’s shoulder for a moment, letting the moment draw out as her emotions process the pang of both guilt and something strangely foreign twisting in her gut.</p><p> </p><p>Another second goes by and Glynda parts, leaving Ruby to process the want for that near-motherly contact before she notices that Glynda’s waitress and girlfriend, Amber, has made her way over to them, a genuine smile on her face that makes Ruby look away in embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>After extending Yang the courtesy of a hug and a nod towards Qrow that miraculously doesn’t involve a snide repartie that would inevitably lead to one of their famed arguments, Glynda steps back beside Amber, addressing Ruby in a far less motherly - and far more familiar - professional manner.</p><p> </p><p>“So, should I assume you’re here for your post-fight burger” It’s not a question, Ruby’s burger order after weeks of strict dieting and weight cutting was the stuff of hushed whispers and awe.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am!” Ruby beams, allowing the wave of nostalgia for a mother figure, long gone, evaporate from her subconscious. Luckily, the rumbling of her stomach and the saliva accumulating within her mouth help the feelings she didn’t want to explore evaporate far faster than usual.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at the girl, Glynda,” Yang says casually, looping her arm around her sister’s shoulders, “she’s positively wasting away with your burgers!”</p><p> </p><p>Her expression far more policed than it was earlier, the ghost of a smirk that traces the bartender’s lips is no less genuine. She pulls Amber into a one-armed hug before releasing her and stalking back behind the bar, or as Qrow jokingly called it, <em> the seat of Glynda Goodwitch’s power. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Find your seats and Amber will take your drink orders,” The bartender gives Qrow an appraising look before lifting a bottle of single malt scotch of the lowest standard and settling it on the counter, earning a wolfish grin from the grey-haired man, “guessing you all want your <em> regulars? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am!” The sisters echoed simultaneously, earning a chuckle from Amber while Glynda started calling the order back to the cook.</p><p> </p><p>The sisters and Qrow took their seats at an open table, mid-room by the pool table while they waited for Amber to come get the sister’s drink orders.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay to admit you like Glynda’s hugs,” Yang teased her younger sister after they’d sat down, watching with a half-smirk at Ruby’s blush as her younger sister took the folder out from her jacket and set it on the table between them to peruse, “it’s like cuddling against pillows…”</p><p> </p><p>The sigh that escapes Yang is equal parts scandalous and whimsical, causing the blush on Ruby’s cheeks to darken as she takes out the Chibi image from earlier. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up sis, you know that has nothing to do with it…” Ruby trails off, her tone a little bit more severe than she intends as Yang winces while curiously regarding some of the other drawings in the pile.</p><p> </p><p>Yang didn’t deserve an admonishment, the reason she was teasing her younger sister was because she understood exactly why Ruby all but melted into the contact with the motherly figure they’d grown up knowing. All the boisterous blond was trying to do was keep her sister’s mood light. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh sure,” Qrow candidly started, lightly plucking the Chibi image of his niece from her hand and looking down at it with a critical, if bemused, eye, “it’s all fun hugging Glynda when all you feel is her chest, but then you also got to deal with her frigid, witches grip when her arms wrap around you”</p><p> </p><p>Yang covers her mouth to halt her laugh but she’s not smiling at Qrow… instead she’s staring past him. He notes her expression and sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“Which one’s behind me, Amber or Glynda?” His gruff voice has the good sense to sound strained and cowed.</p><p> </p><p>There’s an extended pause before Yang leans over to stage whisper to Qrow while Ruby smartly plucks the drawing back from her uncle’s grasp.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, no matter how still you’re sitting there, Glynda CAN still see you…” Yang manages to reign in a chuckle as her uncle sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily for Qrow, there’s some sort of deity looking out for him on this day as the bartender elects to give him a smart flick across the ear before setting a tumbler with the scotch from earlier in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Ouch,” Qrow still grouses, holding his now throbbing right ear, “guess I should consider myself lucky, your wifey would have had her serving tray down my throat by n-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d be doing what?” Amber interjects smartly as she appears beside Ruby and Yang, her aforementioned serving tray tucked beneath her left elbow while her order pad and pen were held, awaiting the sister’s drink orders.</p><p> </p><p>“Carefully negotiating a ceasefire in the ongoing Uncle Qrow versus Auntie Glynda ground war,” Ruby manages to let out despite biting down on a chuckle, recognizing that her uncle just bit the bullet in a bid to keep her in high spirits, “oh! Can I get a Strawberry Sunrise?”</p><p> </p><p>“Me too, but make it a virgin, I’m driving,” Yang nods to Amber, who hums as she writes it down, “oh, and ice water and glasses for the table too, please.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright! Have them for you in a minute, provided my lovely wife isn’t going to jail for beating Qrow senseless before I get back” Amber finishes, giving the grey-haired man a cross look before walking back over to the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby becomes keenly aware that Glynda is still behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“Shirt designs?” The bartender asks curiously as Ruby starts to drag out a few more to peruse.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, designs and trying to settle on a marketable nickname,” Yang answers for her sister, who keeps her silver eyes focused on the page before her, “she’s being stubborn cuz she’s afraid of choosing a bad one”</p><p> </p><p>A hum of sympathy escapes the elder blond’s lips at that “If you don’t do it, Ruby, someone in the fight game will, and regardless of whether it’s flattering or not, it <em> will </em> stick”</p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s just…” Ruby groans, setting the stack before her before running frustrated hands across her face, wincing as she presses a bit too hard on the bruise by her eye, “... I don’t want to just repeat mom’s nickname, but I’m not ashamed of just being called <em> the daughter of Summer Rose </em>, y’know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately that doesn’t read so good on a t-shirt or an event program, kiddo” Qrow interjects before taking a sip of his scotch, he offers Glynda a shrug from just outside of Ruby’s view that makes Yang smirk. The context being an admittance to her uncle’s own helplessness sometimes when it came to dealing with the niece’s he so dotted over.</p><p> </p><p>The type of shrug that clearly stated: <em> Help me Glynda, I’m out of ideas. </em></p><p> </p><p>While Glynda and Qrow’s relationship would be described at best as ‘mutually antagonistic’. The war of words, pranks and barbs always got put on hold when it revolved around the sisters. The bartender gives him a barely perceptible nod in response and Yang reclines casually.</p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s frustrating, dear,” Glynda starts, setting a calming hand on Ruby’s shoulder… and grinning faintly before pressing a finger to the chibi design that earns a slight chuckle from the youngest of Taiyang’s daughters herself, “... that’s really cute, by the way. As I was saying though, it’s hard, but you need to define who you are, not just to the fans or the people in the office and the merchandisers, you need to define who you are <em> for you </em>. You’re not a carbon copy of your mother, nor should you feel shame for wanting to have that bond with her either. There’s a happy middle ground that should satisfy both parts of you, you just haven’t thought of it yet.”</p><p> </p><p>A few seconds go by as Ruby absorbs the encouraging statement. It didn’t make her feel better, at least not in this very moment, but it did give her enough to think over as the day wore on.</p><p> </p><p>‘A happy middle ground…’ Ruby repeats to herself internally.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Almost slipped my mind,” Glynda snaps her fingers in realisation, the sound drawing Ruby from her own internal monologue, “are you still hunting down Summer Rose paraphernalia?”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby blinks, turning in her seat to address the woman standing beside her. The grin on the bartender’s face stirred some excitement within her as she considered what that statement could mean. What had Glynda managed to find?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m always on the lookout… online listings have grown pricy and scarce since her induction last year…” While Ruby was infinitely proud of the fact that the Remnant Fighting League had inducted her mother as the first female Hall Of Fame candidate, the fact that it drove asking prices for any old bit of merchandising with her mother’s name or face on it through the roof had frustrated her to no end, “what didja find?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Glynda’s smirk grew at the hopeful excitement that ran across the her features, she hunches down, her face right beside Ruby’s as she beckons the young woman to follow her gaze across the bar, towards a small two-person booth near the washrooms, where a young man with a… a headband? A bandage? Was voraciously attacking an order of fries like it had threatened the wellbeing of his family.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…” Yang lets slip from behind her, “okay I’ll bite, what about that guy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em> that boy </em> over there came walking in earlier, leaking blood like a sieve - hence the bandage - and soaked to the bone, but <em> wearing </em> something I think your sister will fall over herself to get” Glynda stated to the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence,” Yang counters, unimpressed, “firstly, bleeding? Secondly, if he got blood on whatever bit of Summer Rose merch he’s got, I’m pretty sure Ruby will kill him”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby herself can’t seem to identify at a distance what it would be that the skinny man, unaware of her scrutiny, would have. He eats with the kind of desperation born of not knowing when his next good meal would be, and like the one before him might be taken away.</p><p> </p><p>“You remember that rumor that the SDC would pull out of the north side docks if the Dust mine couldn’t make city hall bend to their wishes to get labor laws in the mine laxed?” Glynda asks, earning a nod from Yang, “Lawyers apparently served the order today, had a few regulars through earlier today complaining about being let go, that poor lad over there didn’t even get to enjoy his last payday because he got mugged on the way here”</p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s… unfortunate” Yang admits, a humorless chuckle escaping her lips while Ruby continues to try and glean more information about the young man from across the pub.</p><p> </p><p>“As for your second question…” Glynda sighs, “I, in all my softhearted nature - despite what the cretin you call an uncle insists is a black hole in my chest - decided to comp his meal and helped him bandage his skull once I figured out he wasn’t strung out. Didn’t see any blood escape the hoodie he was holding to the cut”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” Ruby asks, pausing as Amber comes back with the sister’s drink orders, balanced perfectly on her tray. After setting the coasters and beverages down, both Yang and Ruby thank the waitress before the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister turns back to Glynda, “What does he have that I want?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well…” The bartender starts, an uncharacteristic play of coyness running across normally stern and controlled features, “... I can tell you, but you should really go see”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby frowns at the thought of actually having to go and interact with a complete stranger, let alone a complete stranger who appears to be eating his meal like his execution is slated for the following sunrise and whose head is wrapped in a bandage from a <em> literal </em> strong-arm robbery, before she can voice her displeasure at the thought, she notices the grin plastered across her older sister’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ruby demands, annoyed.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh nothing,” Yang starts innocently before sipping her virgin Strawberry Sunrise, the smirk evident on her lips even wrapped around the straw before she lets it go with a satisfied hum, “it’s just always fun to watch your face when someone suggests you socialize like a normal human being. Reminds me of the first time dad tried to get you to eat onions”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby tries to kick her sister under the table for that remark but the older Xiao Long-Rose knew it was coming and manages to bring her legs out of range with a laugh. Qrow lets out a dry chuckle at the display while Glynda crosses her arms disapprovingly.</p><p> </p><p>“Children…” the bartender starts, cutting the duo off before things could predictably escalate like any of the many <em> infamous </em> examples of the sister’s normally good-natured rivalry, “... don’t make me put the both of you in timeout”</p><p> </p><p>“But <em> Maaaaaaa </em>” Yang whines good-naturedly, but after a moment wilts beneath the level glare that focuses on her.</p><p> </p><p>Assured that no further tomfoolery was forthcoming, Glynda’s pale green eyes pin down Ruby’s silver, “Ruby, dear, just go over there, if you’re too nervous to start a conversation with him, then just pretend to use the washroom and come back”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon kid, if Glynda says it’s something you’ll want to add to your collection of your ma’s stuff, it’s a good bet it’s something you’ll want” Qrow goads his youngest niece gruffly.</p><p> </p><p>“Hooookay then,” Ruby mutters out, taking a deep sip of her near-untouched Strawberry Sunrise to steel her resolve, “I’ll be back in a few…”</p><p> </p><p>‘You can lose fifteen pounds in a brutal fast, you can stand across the cage and exchange punches with some of the world’s best fighters… c’mon Ruby, how hard could it be to talk with a strange boy you’ve never met?’ She reasons to herself, her feet feeling like lead as she slowly starts to walk towards the washroom.</p><p> </p><p>As she gets closer, the details surrounding the <em> boy </em> in question start to become outlined in far more detail. His shaggy near-black brown hair shooting out above the proverbial headband of gauze that Glynda had helped him construct, the vibrant eyes that Ruby had trouble confirming the color up between yellow and green, a frame that - while slim - was roped with enough muscle in poise to speak of a young man that was no stranger to hard work.</p><p> </p><p>‘He’s actually kind of cute’ Her internal monologue echoes as she gets closer. She gives her head a shake, trying to dispel the thought before it makes her even more nervous.</p><p> </p><p>She’s just shy of a couple feet from the table when she spots <em> it </em> . The shirt that simply <em> had to be </em> the bit of merch that Glynda had alluded to, and upon it’s reveal Ruby can hear the anchor drop in her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh Brothers on high...:’ Is all the voice inside her head can think to say as she stands there staring at it.</p><p> </p><p>It was a simple shirt, an old bit of merchandise that Ruby had only seen going for outrage-level prices over the network between high-rolling collectors either looking to trade for something valuable or liquidating collections they no longer found appealing. It was the second official RFL designed shirt for the burgeoning women’s division her mother had helped pioneer, the first officially designed shirt just for the woman known Remnant-wide as <em> The Sickle </em>.</p><p> </p><p>To her amazement, it wasn’t faded, the iron-on decal wasn’t cracked with age or improper care, there was no stain or marr across the cream-white cotton blend the graphic was ironed on to. What she was looking at was a <em> pristine, twenty-six year old monument to her mother’s existence. </em></p><p> </p><p>“U-um, can I help you?” A voice breaks the reverence in her thoughts like cannon fire.</p><p> </p><p>‘SWEET DUST FIREBALLS!’ Ruby’s fight-or-flight response sounds the warning klaxons of her impending stroke as she nearly jumps out of her skin. The actual curse that manages to leave her lips while airborn was one-hundred percent a Ruby original that she’d have to write down and define at a later date, preferably when her heart stops trying to beat it’s way out of her ribcage.</p><p> </p><p>She hunches down, hands on knees as she takes several calming breaths, willing her heart to slow and the blush to <em> please, Brothers above </em> leave her visage.</p><p> </p><p>“... you okay?” The voice is lighter than she was expecting, his Vale accent highlighted by what her sister would cheerfully dub as <em> bumpkinese </em>, giving the question an odd sort of warmth.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah, totally…” Ruby nods her head, hands pushing off her knees to extend to her full height as she looks into those strange yellow-ish, <em> maybe </em>greenish eyes that occupy the man’s boyish face “... so, sorry for staring, I kinda zoned out there, didn’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were somewhere between Atlas and Vacuo, cuz you definitely weren’t here for about a minute” The chuckle before his jab seems to lance right through any hope she has of trying to build a calm facade.</p><p> </p><p>‘Great, he’s cute and he knows I’m a space cadet’ The younger Xiao Long-Rose chides herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh” She drones as she feels her face start to warm with a brand new blush, she notes the stranger’s confused smile causes his cheeks to dimple, “So now that I’ve uh, managed to totally stick the landing on first impressions…”</p><p> </p><p>With that she flops into the booth seat on the opposite side of the table from him, banking idly on maybe the floor opening up and swallowing her whole, still though, the ice was broken, the boy was cute, and she wanted him out of that shirt…</p><p> </p><p>‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNOTLIKETHAT!’ Her internal monologue shrieked at her. Luckily Ruby manages to keep a tight leash on her reaction for the first time in minutes - a seeming <em> eternity </em> in this context - and keeps her eyes on the prize… the whole reason she was over here to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s… a really nice shirt” She states simply, hating how tiny her own voice sounded.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” The cute man responds, the light grin that crosses his features seems fragile as one of his hands reaches down to brush over the article of clothing subconsciously “it belonged to my father…”</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah <b> <em>fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck</em> </b> ’ Her stomach immediately turns to abject dread at that simple statement. Any hopes of convincing the man across from her to sell it seemed doomed to failure before because of monetary reasons… but a shirt of the stranger’s <em> late father!? </em> Ruby felt sick to her stomach… how was she supposed to ask him to part with such a thing.</p><p> </p><p>That thought does nothing to stop the want in her heart. She’d considered even being this close to one of the original print <em> “The Sickle” </em> RFL shirts something of a pipe dream, but she was this close <b> <em>now</em> </b> . She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t <em> try to at least get it. </em></p><p> </p><p>She feels her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, her fingers drumming across the scratched oak of the table top in nervous consideration as she stares at the shirt before bringing her gaze back up to those yellow-green eyes, which were staring back at her with a mixture of concern and genuine confusion.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t seem the type to get offended by merely asking, but first…</p><p> </p><p>“Was…” Ruby managed to restrain the wince she felt as she altered her question to an honest statement, “... s-sorry for bringing it up”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” The young man states with an air of finality that does absolutely nothing to quell the pressure of guilt building in Ruby’s chest at the confirmation that yes, indeed, this young man’s father was dead, and the shirt <em> she </em> so callously wanted to buy off him might as well be an heirloom, “It was a long time ago, there’s no need to look like you kicked over his head stone”</p><p> </p><p>‘Bless him’ Her internal monologue states in an amused tone as the cute young man’s joke lands with all the tact and grace of a grand piano shoved off an eleventh story balcony.</p><p> </p><p>She watches his canned chuckle escape him and fade away as he realizes the comment failed to elicit any reaction from her. Brothers she was going to offend this cute guy and watch him <em> and </em> that shirt of her mother get up and walk out the door of Glynda’s pub forever. The thought twists something in her gut and she can barely perceive the apologetic look on his face through the gathering of tears starting to cloud her vision.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, it was my dad’s favorite shirt, buuuut it’s still just a shirt,” The cute guy states seriously, and Ruby finds herself torn between being offended because at that second that shirt was the focus of her entire world… and being grateful that he seemed to be stating it in a manner meant to put her visible anxiety at ease, “... you a fan of Summer Rose or something?”</p><p> </p><p>‘... a fan’ Ruby’s monologue laughs at that statement. She guessed the cute young man wasn’t a big follower of the mixed martial arts scene if he couldn’t draw the parallels between the woman whose shirt he wore, and the woman sitting across from him who’d grown up being told she was the spitting image of her mother.</p><p> </p><p>“I should hope so...” Ruby starts, feeling a smile curl her lips slightly as she watches the cute young man reach for his beer, “... after all, I <em> am </em> her daughter”</p><p> </p><p>Imagine her surprise when the man she’s been sitting opposite of for the last five minutes, dealing with the confusion signals she’d obviously been putting out, being attentive, kind and - dare Ruby add - kind of <em> sweet </em>, upend the last few mouthfuls of beer directly down the front of his pants with a flagrant bout of cursing.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>_____________</p><p> </p><p>Yang Xiao Long watched with the hawkish intensity people only knew her for when it came to matters of her sister’s well-being. Lilac eyes drinking in the sight of her often shy and withdrawn baby sister flopping into the booth opposite the bandaged man the Glynda had pointed her towards.</p><p> </p><p>“Lookit that,” Qrow commented, turning back in his own chair to regard the meal that had just arrived at the table and absently grabbed a potato wedge before jamming it into his mouth, around the food he managed to comment to Yang, “you must be so proud”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s growing up <em> so fast </em> ,” the elder Xiao Long-Rose sisters sighs out dramatically, belying the intensity of her studious gaze to wipe a mock tear away, much to the amusement of her uncle and Glynda, “... so what exactly <em> does </em> he have that you’re so sure Ruby’ll want?”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda turns to observe the interactions between Ruby and Oscar, so far so civil between the sweet, awkward girl she did her best to keep tabs on, and a boy who’d quite obviously fell off the proverbial turnip truck and into city living, before turning back to Yang and Qrow, who looked at her with bared curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>“So that young man over there came in wearing Summer’s very first RFL shirt,” Yang watches the self-satisfied smirk cross Glynda’s mouth as she lets that bit of information slip before drinking in the surprised looks of the table’s two other occupants, “and it’s in great shape, despite the fact it was soaked through when I was helping the young man with his cut”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> shit </em>,” Yang breathes out, the realization of how stunned her sister must be right now, “Ruby’s been looking for one of them for years. Like, literally years”</p><p> </p><p>“The brat ended up in a week long argument with Tai about emptying out her life savings the last time one of them dropped in price to a mere five thousand lien, Glynda,” Qrow reminisces with a wince that Yang can sympathize with, remembering how things around the gym had turned into nothing short of an eggshell-walking hell that featured but was not limited to: slammed doors, threats, pouts, crying, and at least one unfirednly daughter-father sparring session that hovered somewhere between <em> rough </em> and <em> felonious </em>, “if that kid knows anything about the price tags attached to that shirt, we might have to hide his body before the day is over”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Glynda gives the grey-haired man a severe, disbelieving look, but her eyes quickly pan over to Yang’s intense lilac gaze only to find that the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister is fully as serious about that statement as her uncle.</p><p> </p><p>“... okay, before the two of you start budgeting shovels and plastic tarping,” Glynda starts, causing Yang to hide her smirk behind a long drink of her virgin Strawberry Sunrise as the bartender broke out her best <em> Mama Glynda </em> tone, “ <em> if </em> Oscar knows about that shirt’s worth, there’s no possible way he’d risk it by wearing it to work, let alone to his subsequent mugging <em> and </em> walking out in that Maidens-forsaken storm earlier”</p><p> </p><p>Yang rolled that statement around in her head for a couple seconds before nodding in agreement. It made the most sense.</p><p> </p><p>“So then,” Qrow rasps as he polishes off his scotch, “now we just have to worry about sentimental value… and whether or not the kid feels like doing a curious search on his scroll”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Shit </em>” Glynda and Yang mutter in response.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t suppose you want to comp me another scotch?” Qrow turns to the bartender, wriggling the glass with a raised eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Yang watches as Glynda squares her shoulders before smiling with a faux-sweetness that the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister would find objectively terrifying were there any point in her life she believed worthy of the bartender aiming it at her. Her uncle, with a cockiness born of the fact that these two had decades-ago forged the definition of what <em> frienemies </em>were, didn’t even flinch.</p><p> </p><p>“Why Qrow, I never recall agreeing to comp your scotch or meal to begin with!” Glynda leans forward and plucks the glass from his fingers as the cocky smirk of her uncle manages to stick despite the fact he’d routinely stated that morning before they’d left the gym that he really didn’t have the money for a burger.</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course that <em> could </em> just be Qrow being a cheapskate again’ Yang thinks, trying to assuage her own worries. Which is only partially successful given the last time her uncle had tried to call Glynda’s bluff about billing him, the result had been the middle-aged man working in the dish pit of Glynda’s Grillhouse for the next three days.</p><p> </p><p>Yang watches the two share an unspoken exchange before Glynda lets out an airy <em> ‘hmph!’ </em> and marches over to the bar, freeing the blond’s line of sight to where her sister and the young man - Oscar, Glynda had stated - currently sat. </p><p> </p><p>Even from this distance, Yang could see the tell of Ruby’s excitement and nervousness, the bouncing leg stuck half out of the booth, the shoulders bunched up in a combination of tension and excitement…</p><p> </p><p>… Ruby playing with the fringes of her hair was new, Yang dully noted before her eyes widened slightly in realization.</p><p> </p><p>‘She thinks this Oscar guy is <em> cute </em> ’ Yang almost lets out a squeak at the thought of her sister crushing on someone invades the forefront of her mind, until a much larger, bolder, <em> big sisterly </em> cuts to the front, ‘I’ll break his legs if he hurts her feelings’</p><p> </p><p>“You gonna eat that?” Qrow cuts through the familial posturing taking place in the blond’s mind as he gestures to her plate.</p><p> </p><p>Yang doesn’t answer, instead looking down at the battered cod and heavily salt-and-vinegar covered potato wedges that Amber had set before her, her stomach choosing that moment to remind her that she was <em> famished </em>. She grabs the supplied knife and fork, setting the napkin they were rolled in to the side before digging in with enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere between the first bite of deep-fried fish and the last, Glynda had wordlessly dropped off Qrow a magnanimous second glass of scotch that her uncle claimed was eighty-percent water anyways.</p><p> </p><p>Sitting back up she takes a satisfied breath, enjoying the feeling of fullness that eluded her on every day but her biweekly cheat day, before she turns her attention to the wedges however she notes Ruby’s double-decker grilled chicken burger and onion rings, still sitting opposite her, <em> untouched </em>.</p><p> </p><p>She looks back up to where her sister and the stranger had been locked in conversation only to quirk her brow as she spotted Ruby making her way back over to their table, a wide, nervous grin on her face, behind her, a blushing Oscar made his way into the washroom.</p><p> </p><p>“...so what hap-”</p><p> </p><p>“He has mom’s shirt and he’s willing to sell it for really cheap and it’s in great shape and…” Ruby takes a slow, shaking breath as Yang holds her hands up defensively as though to protect herself from the patented Ruby Rose verbal flood, a pause goes by and Ruby levels a look at Yang that she dreaded… the puppy dog eyes, “... and I need your help, sis...”</p><p> </p><p>With his back to Ruby so she can’t see it, Qrow sends a smartass smirk Yang’s way that says everything he wasn’t able to in that moment. It was a smirk that said <em> ‘Try and hold out all you want, we both know you’re going to cave to whatever she asks you next’ </em>.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck you, Qrow!’ her internal monologue shouts so loudly she’s pretty sure her uncle heard it.</p><p> </p><p>“Ruby…” Yang sighs, taking a moment to finish the last mouthful of her drink before looking into the silver eyes boring hopefully into hers, savoring the torturous pause that was probably a few short seconds away from her younger sister hopping the table and attacking her with a ground-and-pound assault shockingly more ferocious than any she had been able to dole out in her short, professional career, “... how much do you need?”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s squeal might have set off a couple car alarms but Yang weathered them admirably while her uncle drowned any complaints - and laughter at Yang’s predictable failure to deny her beloved little sister - with the second glass of scotch.</p><p> </p><p>“I need two-hundred lien, I got four hundred in my account and I <em> swear </em> to the brothers I’ll pay you back, there’s literally going to be no other time in my life that I can get that shirt for this cheap!” Ruby rambles out in near-incoherence. </p><p> </p><p>Yang sighs and fishes the wallet out of her leather jacket before calling out to Glynda “Does the Lien Machine work?”</p><p> </p><p>The sardonic look the bartender sends back in response makes the elder Xiao Long-Rose laugh, of course the fucking local Lien Machine didn’t work, it hadn’t worked when the establishment was Summer Rose’s first professional sponsor, why would it work now?</p><p> </p><p>“Bring me your cards,” Glynda sighs behind the bar in a feigned, put-upon droll that falls into a smirk as she watches the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister attempt to burrow through the hardwood in excitement, “how much did he want for it?”</p><p> </p><p>Yang opens her mouth to respond, but it isn’t <em> her </em>good news to share, she nudges her sister  in the ribs to prompt an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Four hundred” </em> she squeaks</p><p> </p><p>A pause as that number sinks into Yang’s mind properly.</p><p> </p><p>“Waitam-”</p><p> </p><p>“I convinced him to take six hundred lien because I feel awful about how much cheaper he was willing to sell it compared to the market price,” Ruby glances at Yang, momentarily worried she might get brained for not filling her sister in on <em> that </em> little two-hundred-lien detail, “I even told him about the asking prices and Oscar - that’s his name by the way, Yang - just shrugged”</p><p> </p><p>“Lucky you,” Glynda manages a short chuckle at the defeated slump of Yang’s shoulders, “he seems like a good enough young man, he’s just had something of a raw deal since moving out of the country. At least, that’s the impression I got of him”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a sweetheart,” Ruby stated with absolute conviction before handing her bank card over to the bartender, “four hundred lien for me and thank you so, so, so, <em> so, </em> <b> <em>sooooo</em> </b> much for this Glynda! You’re the best!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, great, grand, wonderful, youthful, I am all these things and humble to boot,” Glynda lets out flatly as she swipes the card and - upon confirmation - proceeds to peel the respective Lien notes from her til and hands them over to the ecstatic young Ruby, “you doing the remaining two-hundred, Yang?”</p><p> </p><p>“It would appear I am,” The elder Xiao Long-Rose sister manages a chuckle, handing her own bank card over to the bartender before turning to stare at her little sisters profile, “so… a <em> sweetheart </em> is he?”</p><p> </p><p>Yang barely managed to keep herself from breaking into raucous laughter as her little sister’s face went just about as red as her name would imply, while freezing so shock-still in embarrassment under her older sister’s lilac gaze that there was a momentary fear she might be stuck like that.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah, so!?” Ruby’s attempt to pass off the newly called out crush was so clumsy that Yang did break out laughing this time, and even worse for the shirking young Rose, <em> Glynda joined her. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Nothing wrong with it Ruby!” The words didn’t match the smug, toothy smile threatening to reach Yang’s ears as she grabbed both her bank card and the Lien bills back from Glynda with an emphatic thanks before handing the bills to Ruby, “So, when’s the wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>The problem with tormenting a sibling that’s engaged in a professional level of mixed martial arts is that there’s the very real possibility of actually getting your ass beat for pushing your teasing too far, in Yang Xiao Long’s case, she was lucky they were <em> both </em> trained, and trained well, as she raises her own shin to check the leg kick her red faced sister levelled at her.</p><p> </p><p>It still hurt and the sound of calcified shin on calcified shin rang out in the pub like a gunshot, even through their respective pairs of jeans, but both sister’s managed to maintain their expression, the elder of smug amusement, and the younger of outraged humiliation.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Girls </em> ,” Glynda’s voice rings out in a dangerous tone that Yang had once heard both her father and uncle cheerfully refer to as <em> ball-shrinkingly cold </em> , both she and Ruby straightened up immediately, “if you fight in here, give me a week to promote it, otherwise <em> don’t start that in here, got it?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am” the sisters respond in unison, eyes wide until Glynda’s pale green eyes downgrade from <em> oncoming apocalypse </em> to <em> tropical storm </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Also, Ruby,” Glynda continues before casting a curious glance over to the washroom that Oscar had thus far failed to reappear from, “did he try to sneak out the washroom window or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would he do that?” Ruby asks, genuinely bewildered.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been looking for that shirt for <em> years </em>, Rubes,” Yang intones, starting to feel somewhat concerned about the young man’s continued absence as well, “you didn’t like… threaten to kick his ass if he didn’t sell you that shirt, did you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yang, no,” Ruby states dryly, not even warranting the question with a glare, “he excused himself to take off his shirt, said he’d left his sweater in the bathroom.”</p><p> </p><p>Yang catches Glynda’s wince out of the corner of her eye before she hears the familiar faint squeak of the washroom door’s hinges.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar rounded the corner holding the coveted shirt in his hand… and beyond that looking like a murder victim, the soaked hoodie that Glynda had mentioned he’d used as a covering over the head wound he’d walked in with was coated in blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw <em> Dust dammit </em>” Glynda managed to sigh out with an air of sympathy Yang could only agree with. Between the beer coating the front of his work pants and that blood covering almost every square inch of his momentarily discarded outerwear, he cut a pretty pathetic image.</p><p> </p><p>… judging by his downcast eyes, <em> he knew it too. </em></p><p> </p><p>“U-um, here you go” He holds the shirt out towards the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister, refusing to meet her eyes, “I spilt a little bit of beer on it, but it won’t stain if you wash it quick”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s enthusiasm as she swapped the shirt for cash was somewhat dulled by the young man’s flagrant embarrassment. After a moment she turns and sets the shirt lovingly down on the polished countertop before reaching to unzip her windbreaker. Yang’s already tracking her younger sister’s thoughts and grabs her wrist to stop her.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a bit too small for him to wear your jacket Rubes, even if the guy’s pretty slim” She regrets her wording at the slight wince Oscar gives at her words, but then he stares in astonishment as Yang picks up her leather bomber jacket and empties the pockets out before tossing it at him.</p><p> </p><p>“W-wai-” Oscar starts to protest at the gesture, clearly unsettled at the showing of humanity he’d become unaccustomed to during his time in the city.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me stop you right there, Oscar,” Yang cuts him off, sighing as her gaze alternates between Oscar, Ruby’s furrowed brow… and Glynda’s knowing smirk, “you made my sis <em> very </em>happy today, like… happy enough to forget she lost a fight yesterday happy. So take the Dust damned jacket because if you walk outside wearing what you’ve got on right now, the cops will bring you in as a murder suspect”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a long pause as the young man with the strangely intense yellow-green eyes takes stock of the leather jacket, clearly gauging whether it was worth trying to argue against the intimidating blond that insisted he take it. The whole time the turmoil was taking place, Yang swore she could <em> feel </em> Glynda’s smile burrowing into the back of her neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Th-thank you,” Oscar manages to keep from grovelling, but Yang suspects <em> by just barely </em>, before he gives her younger sister the ghost of a grin, “one moment, I’ll be right back”</p><p> </p><p>With that he turns to walk off back to the washroom, the trio of women watching to make sure he was out of earshot before turning back to each other.</p><p> </p><p>“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him” Glynda states flatly, busying herself with cleaning suspiciously clean glassware.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s sad,” Ruby states hollowly, though that sadness doesn’t extend to the covetous, worshipful touch she graces her newly acquired shirt with, “he said he’s not sure, but that he might have some other old MMA stuff of his dad’s laying around”</p><p> </p><p>“Hoping for more cheap merch, or more Oscar time?” The silver-eyed glare she receives tells Yang that she can only needle her baby sister a <em> little </em> more, then she’d better stop, “He <em> is </em> cute though”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby turns her gaze away before stiffly nodding in agreeance before straightening out as she hears the man in question push the washroom door and walk back over to them, now clad in the leather jacket Yang had handed him and looking far more comfortable in his own skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Not half-bad!” Yang remarks casually, noting Ruby stiffen at the light flirt she’s laid on the young man.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still gonna feel bad,” Oscar states sheepishly, looking down at the well-worn but well-loved leather, “Is there anyway I can get this back to you at a later time?”</p><p> </p><p>“W-well,” Ruby interjects before Yang could even consider a way to embarrass her with this, “we don’t come here to Glynda’s too often when we’re doing fight workup, but it you have any merch you want to sell or you’re just up near Beacon University on Autumn Avenue, we can almost always be found at the Team XL gym during the day”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nods to the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister, though Yang suspects the vacant look in his eyes meant he had no Dust damned clue where either of those locations were. She has to fight down the urge to take the time to draw the young man a map, rationalizing that if he truly wanted to return her jacket or see Ruby again, he’d find his way.</p><p> </p><p>‘I really hope he at least returns that jacket’ Yang mused internally.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good Ruby, and thank you, I didn’t know how I was gonna pay my rent this month,” He nods over at Glynda, then to Yang, who finds herself feeling embarrassed by the genuine earnestness in his eyes “and thank you Glynda and…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yang”</p><p> </p><p>“-Yang,” He pauses lamely, reaching around to scratch at his head before frowning at the physical reminder that his head was currently in a state of heavily bandaged, “y’really saved my ass today.”</p><p> </p><p>“Think nothing of it, young man,” Glynda stated simply, somehow in one sentence managing to make the man in front of her look like he felt about six years of age, “just stay out of trouble and try not to get your head stoved in anymore. Just because I can pretend I’m good at first aid doesn’t mean I like to”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it’s no problem, dude!” Yang shoots him a wink and thumbs-up that she’s certain Ruby will one day tell a jury of her peers was the focal point of her murder plot to become and only sister sometime in the near future.</p><p> </p><p>With another muttered thank you, Oscar turns and quickly walks to the door, the bell ringing as he makes his exit and disappears from out front, into the light rain that remained of the earlier storm and gone.</p><p> </p><p>Yang gauges Ruby’s reaction from the corner of her eye after Oscar’s out of sight, her face is twisted into what Yang could only describe as <em> exhausted wistfulness </em>, a term she used for when her baby sister was forced to be social but didn’t actually have a horrible time. Plus the fact that she was clutching a long-sought shirt like it was a security blanket.</p><p> </p><p>“Well brats,” Qrow’s throaty growl of a voice makes both sisters jump simultaneously from his seat at their table, where he’d managed to show a level of tact Yang had never seen from her uncle before, “as awkward as Ruby’s first attempt to flirt was, I think her food is cold and we’re well-overdue to meet Tai to start planning Weiss’ next training cycle”</p><p> </p><p>Suitably shirked, Ruby quickly shuffles over to the table, plopping down in her seat, she grabs the double-chicken burger and digs in, wincing slightly at the temperature but having enough sense to not complain about it considering it was her own damn fault for leaving the meal sitting for so long.</p><p> </p><p>Yang chuckles as she watches Qrow’s expression shift from a glare, that was obvious to all but Ruby, was just a show to a warm smile as his niece chowed down on one of her absolute favorite meals.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s such a good big sis, huh?” Amber’s voice stage whispers from behind Yang.</p><p> </p><p>“Good sis, doormat, one and the same” Glynda chuckles to her wife as she watches the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister’s shoulders sag a little.</p><p><br/>
“You both <em> suck </em>, like, so much...” Yang whines before stalking back over to the table, trying to keep a leash on her blush and ignore the laughter of the bartender and waitress behind her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As I've been writing I've slowly realized that certain fighting styles in mixed martial arts are influenced by the regions in which they were born, meaning that I'll probably have to alter the names of individual techniques and styles. I'll try to make a note of them at the end of every chapter, but promise nothing, after all, I drink.</p><p>Also due to my own sense of humor and my willingness to ship out into the wild blue yonder with impunity, the rating might just change as I continue to write.</p><p>If you like this story, or have any constructive criticism, please let me know in comments or messages.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Glancing Blow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oscar tries to get his life back on track with his recent cash injection, simultaneously ruminating over his days' encounter and sating his curiosity over the Silver-Eyed girl that won't leave his mind.</p><p>Meanwhile, Yang, Ruby and Qrow make their way back to the Team XL gym, only to find that one of their own has accepted a challenging match-up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oscar manages to shove the door to his apartment open with his foot before shuffling inside and letting the several bags of groceries looped over his right wrist tumble to the floor. Flexing his hand a few times with mild satisfaction of dropping the weight, he slaps his hand out, blindly swatting for the light switch in the dark and eventually flipping it once found.</p><p> </p><p>The buzzing fluorescent light casts a gradually brightening glow across the bachelor apartment, the open floor plan tying the kitchen and dining area by the door to blend seamlessly with the living area that doubled as his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>The young man casts a longing look at the secondhand couch that served as his bed, but ignores it - and the fleeting glances of scurrying cockroaches trying to escape the invading light his return had brought to the apartment - before picking his discarded groceries back up off the floor with a groan and carrying them the few feet over to the counter.</p><p> </p><p>It had been hours since he’d left Glynda’s Grillhouse with a scarlet face, a leather jacket that was nicer than any other article of clothing he’d ever owned, and enough money in his pocket to not only cover the month’s rent he’d figured had been mugged off of him earlier that day, but also to cover the groceries for the next several weeks, possibly month if the former farm boy was smart and frugal.</p><p> </p><p>As he starts to sort through the bags, separating the dry items he’d just have to risk putting in his cupboards and homing the Dust damned <em> infestation </em> that was quite obviously tearing through his apartment complex wouldn’t get to eat it before he did, and the refrigerated items, he can’t help but let a smile grace his lips.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ruby Rose…’ His thoughts turn to the young woman he’d met. </p><p> </p><p>She’d been hesitant to ask him more about the shirt after she’d brought up her mother, and though that had left Oscar feeling confused initially, the continuing conversation had slowly led Pine to grasp the reason behind the silver-eyed woman’s reticence.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby wanted that shirt so badly she could taste it, it was an article in effigy to the late <em> Summer Rose </em>, but she couldn’t demand he sell it if she thought it held the same level of sentimental value to Oscar himself.</p><p> </p><p>When that clicked in, Oscar had almost laughed, which would have been disastrous as Ruby had been in the midst of describing how much she admired the woman who’d birthed her.</p><p> </p><p>The decision to ask her if she’d wanted the shirt had been easy, simple, and the effect immediate. All of a sudden, the same girl that had for minutes been looking between the shirt and his own gaze with some chaotic mixture of confusion, nervousness and awe instead snapped to excitement and joy as the offer left his lips.</p><p> </p><p>All he’d initially asked in exchange was for forty Lien, which is when he had been informed by the silver-eyed woman that the t-shirt he’d so callously elected to wear under his hoodie and head to work in that morning was worth roughly the same amount as a half decent car.</p><p> </p><p>The six-hundred Lien that ended up in his pocket seemed like a happy medium for both Ruby and himself. He wouldn’t be homeless in a week, and Ruby wouldn’t have to procure an internal organ from <em> Brothers-know-where </em> and sell it on the black market to buy a Dust damned t-shirt.</p><p> </p><p>As he finishes storing the jug of milk and carton of eggs away in his fridge - having to kick the door shut twice before it finally stayed closed - he fishes out his wallet and peels the remained Lien from it, counting it in a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting shorted on his wages at the docks during his first payday all those months ago. Counting out the four-hundred for rent that he’d be running down to the landlord the following day, he notes with some satisfaction the near hundred to his name left over before tucking the money back into his wallet.</p><p> </p><p>‘Okay,’ He reasons to himself as he takes a moment to lock and latch the door into his apartment before wandering over to the couch and flopping bonelessly onto it with a sigh, ‘almost a hundred to work with, get some work boots, steel toed, and then we’re out beating pavement tomorrow’</p><p> </p><p>Taking a long moment to just let the stress of being jobless and stranded in an apartment only mildly more preferable than an actual holding cell drain out of him, the exhaustion of the days trials seem to return with the type of force he’d normally be inclined to compare to slamming against a brick wall.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t that the couch was comfortable, or that the cushions he was leaning against were soft, it was just that he was so bloody tired that he simply didn’t <em> care </em> about the fact the a spring was jamming into his left hip, or that the fabric covering the furnishing could be pleasantly stated to smell like a bloated corpse with a dozen scented air fresheners dangling over it.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily for Oscar, his many years tending crops and animals had instilled in him the need to cover his bases before he ever considered turning in for the night. Firstly, he needs to set an alarm so he can be out in the streets job-hunting at first light. He fishes for his scroll and types in his code, scrolling to his clock application and thumbing in both <em> five </em> and <em> five-ten </em> in the early morning.</p><p> </p><p>A sigh escapes his lips upon spotting the current time blinking mockingly in the corner of the scroll’s display. It was barely evening. The only reason the apartment was as dark as it was because of a combination of the blinds being closed and the grey skies from the earlier storm casting a shadow over the day in its entirety.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em> I feel like a corpse and it’s too early to sleep’ </em> Oscar’s mind despairs, loathing the thought of screwing up the sleep schedule he’d managed to maintain impeccably since his youth.</p><p> </p><p>He casts a look around his home, wondering if he has anything that could hold his attention for a few hours and distract him from the siren’s call of an early nap. There was no television, as it was simply a luxury that Oscar had never had the opportunity to either afford or enjoy. The few movies he <em> had </em> watched had occurred during the few blessed memories that he retained when he’d finished his chores quickly enough to be allowed to go visit with the few friends he had out near the farmstead. </p><p> </p><p>Even then, Oscar can still vaguely recall that neither of his parents were all that keen on their only son becoming enamored with the concept of film entertainment, a trait that his aunt had shared when he’d become a charge under her care.</p><p> </p><p>There were a few novellas laying in various states of perusal on the coffee table. They had been gifts that his aunt had insisted he’d take with him to the city when they went their separate ways, insisting that it would be good for him to engage his mind and imagination through the written word. The problem was that while Oscar had been run through enough education to no longer qualify as illiterate, he was out of practice where it concerned immersing himself in the worlds and concepts the dimestore books offered within their confines.</p><p> </p><p>He was also still mildly disturbed by the graphic fidelity he’d found in one of the books labelled <em> romance </em> that had come from his aunt’s own collection, and reminded himself with a distraught shake of his head that while it had been a gift that she’d insisted he take, he was far more comfortable with the idea of throwing them away…</p><p> </p><p>… or exorcising the damned things.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar groans, letting the scroll drop into his lap before rubbing his hands across his face and being reminded - yet again - that there was indeed still gauze wrapped around his head. He presses the heels of his palms into his tired eyes, watching the squiggles and sparks dance across the blackness of his eyelids before letting his hands drop away.</p><p> </p><p>Pushing himself off the couch is a struggle he succeeds in nonetheless, he grabs a set of basketball shorts from the particle-board abomination he considered a dresser before opening the door into his tiny attached washroom. Too small to fit a tub in, there was a stand-in shower only opposite the toilet and the tiny sink and mirror that Oscar had the misfortune of seeing his reflection in as he turns the lights on.</p><p> </p><p>He nearly shouts with a start as he makes contact with his own eyes. He looks <em> awful </em>. Haggard and almost corpselike. The temporary gauze bandage starting to fray at the ends from the wear-and-tear of a busy afternoon. His skin, a sunken palor, reminded him of the fact that a good portion of the blood that would normally be in his body was currently soaked into a hoodie that was now finding its resting place in the dumpster behind the pub he’d visited earlier.</p><p> </p><p>He unzips the loaned leather jacket that Ruby’s sister - <em> Yang </em>, if he’d remembered correctly - had graciously handed him and lets it drop to the stained linoleum beneath his feet, eyes again widening at the bruises across his chest and abdomen.</p><p> </p><p>‘The telltale signs of me getting my ass beat’ He drolls out internally.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar turns back and forth in front of the mirror, gauging the extent of the damage that his mugger’s kicks had left behind. Luckily it seems that he’d been spared cracked or broken ribs, and while the bruises would be tender and unsightly for the next few weeks, the worst he figured he’d suffer over the next few days would be pissing some blood and having a rather harsh time clawing his way off his shitty couch in the morning.</p><p> </p><p>Next he unravels the gauze, carefully peeling away the errant strands of thread, cotton and hair that somehow wound up tangled by the mixture of gelatinized disinfectant, sweat, and traces of blood. As the bandage job reaches its end, Oscar has to suppress a curse as he almost rips the scab away from the cut in his hast before pressing down on the fresh clotted blood to hold it in place as he tears away the last shred of fabric from the wound.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at it with fresh eyes, Pine feels something between sick satisfaction and grim acceptance of the gash, making a mental note to dig out either one of his old farm caps or a bandana to tie around his head before he left the house looking for work.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Can’t even take a Dust damned shower!’ </em> He grouses, realizing that while his apartment wasn’t exactly abunsand with such frivolity as hot-running water, it would still be enough to possibly break the fresh scab open, ‘Whore’s bath it is then…’</p><p> </p><p>Peeling off the rest of his clothes, Oscar fishes the soap bar and cloth out of his shower before turning the sink’s tap on to its hottest setting, which hovered somewhere above freezing, running the fabric underneath the water to soak it, he drops the bar onto if before rubbing them together to get a lather.</p><p> </p><p>He starts around the cut itself, being mindful to not scratch or irritate the cut or scab themselves while trying to pick away at the dried blood that surrounded the cut and matted down his dark brown hair.</p><p> </p><p>Secure that he could do no better cleaning around the healing cut, he proceeded to wipe himself down, shivering at the chill of cold water, he takes a second to psyche himself up before rinsing the cloth before wiping the soap and grime away. Feeling thoroughly peeved by his makeshift cleaning ritual, he snags the towel hanging off the rack on the wall and quickly pats himself dry.</p><p> </p><p>Sliding on the shorts, he pitches the day's clothes into the already-overflowing laundry hamper just outside the washroom door before settling back down on the couch, wincing as now seems to be the moment his bruised ribs decided to announce themselves to the former farm hand.</p><p> </p><p>He’s distressed to find that only fifteen minutes have passed since he last checked, when a thought suddenly occurs to him. Picking up his scroll from where he’d left it on the couch, he brings up the CCT browser app, going to a generic search page that he’d had to ask the salesman at the communications kiosk how to use.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>S-u-m-m-e-r… R-o-s-e…” </em> Oscar enunciates every letter carefully while simultaneously typing the name in. Positive he hasn’t misspelt anything, he hits the search button and waits as the top twenty search items pop into view.</p><p> </p><p>The image that comes up is slightly grainy, not due to lack of buffering, Oscar realizes, but just because the camera that shot the image of a woman that was Ruby’s spitting image, obviously older, and of lower quality than the professional cameras of today. The same silver eyes, the same smile… if Oscar didn’t know better, he’d almost state with absolute certainty that the woman he’d sold the shirt to earlier in the day had aged miraculously.</p><p> </p><p>Thumb dragging the search results down, Pine takes note of a ‘<em> related searches’ </em> sub bar that splits the original page of results, smaller thumbnails of different fighters stretching across the screen with names beneath each.</p><p> </p><p>The first related result isn’t Ruby - he notes with a detached glimmer of surprise - but rather of a woman with blood red eyes and long <em> familiar </em> black hair that tickles at the back of his mind. The name beneath the image reads: <em> Raven “The Bandit” Branwen </em></p><p> </p><p>The next two are of women that had photos of similar quality as Summer’s, leading Pine to conclude that they were of older fighters from back in ‘<em>The Sickles’’ </em> day. He thumbs the result tab to the side before catching sight of Ruby as the fifth related result, a shaggy blond man by the name of Taiyang Xiao Long beating the silver-eyed woman out for fourth.</p><p> </p><p>After that he scrolls down even further, through a series of tribute pages and <em> ‘Greatest Of All Time’ </em> forum debate links, when he reaches the end of the page, he clicks for the next, and then another before he spots what looks to be a news article, one that claimed to have breaking news about the death of Summer Rose.</p><p> </p><p>Guilt flashes hot in his gut as his thumb hovers over the article link, thinking back to the soft smile and piercing silver he’d witnessed earlier that day. </p><p> </p><p>‘Is it creepy to be searching this?’ His mind wonders, ‘I just met this girl… is this stalking?’</p><p> </p><p>A small internal debate rages within him before he eyes the time in the upper corner of the scroll… <em> only five more minutes have passed. </em> Feeling disgusted with himself, but having nothing more pressing to do until it was time to sleep, his thumb presses down on the link.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>_____________</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Did you travel to Vacuo for that burger?!” Taiyang Xiao Long inquires with a mixture of impatience and genuine humor as his ex-brother-in-law and two daughters push their way through the front door of the Team XL gym, almost two hours later than they’d estimated their time of arrival would be.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeppers, but we noticed the time and had to rush back before eating ‘em,” Yang comments brightly, “they asked if we wanted to box our meals, I told them no, but I’d wrestle for ‘em”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby was satisfied to note that her groan was mirrored by her uncle Qrow even as her father high-fived her elder sister for the well-timed, terrible pun. The younger sister quickly rushes up to the desk, purposefully dropping the t-shirt she’d been clutching on the front counter of the gym’s reception area, earning a quirked eyebrow from the blond man.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>That </em> Tai,” Qrow interrupts before his former brother-in-law has the chance to ask, “is what held us up…”</p><p> </p><p>Any sense of further admonishment over his family’s seeming shirking of the day’s schedule seems to leave Taiyang then, and Ruby can’t help but bounce on the balls of her feet at the sheer elation of her find, waiting for her father to come over and check out the paraphernalia’s authenticity only seemed to increase that excitement.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a shirt, what could be…” Tai trails off as he walks the few short feet over to where his youngest daughter had set it, the design on the front hidden by the haphazard manner it was set down, shielded by the rest of the still-damp, cream-colored fabric.</p><p> </p><p>Casting a suspicious look between Ruby’s silver eyes and the shirt, the scruffy blond man grabs the shirt and lifts it to eye level. The recognition hits him after a second of looking at the design on the article of clothing, then Ruby watches as her father’s eyes run the gamut of emotions she suspected were quite similar to the ones she had in the pub earlier.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Surprise, nostalgia, longing, love… grudging acceptance. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Holy sh…” Ever the dutiful father, Tai manages to choke down the curse in front of his daughters, earning an eye roll from Yang behind his back, “... where did you find this?”</p><p> </p><p>“A cute boy at Glynda’s was there, just <em> wearing </em> it when we showed up!” Ruby squeaks out, jumping joyfully in place, “Glynda pointed him out to us, and I went and talked with him and managed to convince him to sell it to me!”</p><p> </p><p>Tai eyes his youngest daughter warily before turning to give a curious glance to both his eldest daughter and his best friend, wordlessly asking the two if that was more or less the truth.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s… yeah that’s pretty much exactly how it happened” Qrow nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Only if you remove all the awkward bits,” Yang declares in a sing-songy voice, earning a growl of irritation from her baby sister, “it was like, <em> sixty percent </em> awkward bits”</p><p> </p><p>At that the shaggy blond-haired man chuckles, knowing how standoffish his youngest could be when it came to interacting with strangers. Ruby bites the inside of her cheek in annoyance at her father’s acceptance of her embarrassment which ebbs as his eyes soften as they turn back to the shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Waitaminute,” A realization seems to flash across the Xiao Long-Rose patriarch’s face before his blue eyes narrow up at Ruby, “<em>how much </em> did you pay for th- <b> <em>wait!</em> </b>”</p><p> </p><p>Both Ruby and Yang jump slightly at the rare authoritarian tone that creeps into their father’s voice. It was never the harbinger of good times, and under her father’s gaze, Ruby feels like something of a deer in headlights.</p><p> </p><p>“... <em> cute boy?” </em></p><p> </p><p><b>‘Oh…’ </b>Ruby feels her stomach unclench.</p><p> </p><p>“Daaaaaad, stop being such a <em> dad </em> ,” The younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter sighs, grateful her father’s little used <em> Dad-Tone </em> had been spent on paint-by-numbers fatherly instinct, “Oscar is indeed cute, but it’s very unlikely I’ll see him again unless he decides to return Yang’s jacket”</p><p> </p><p>The incredulous look still occupies the man’s face as he turns to his elder daughter, who just laughs in response.</p><p> </p><p>“We <em> literally </em> bought the shirt off his back, dad, he needed something to wear home! I told him to drop it off here if and when he gets the chance,” The elder daughter chuckles, “also, Ruby’s twenty one and knows how to break an arm in as many ways, the <em> cute boy </em> wouldn’t stand a chance against her, skinny as he was!”</p><p> </p><p>At that Tai sighs, the tension he didn’t know he was carrying draining from his shoulders. Ruby chanced a quick glance over to her uncle to see if he was going to clarify some of the more… <em> interesting </em> details about their encounter with the young man at the diner, and is met with a disinterested shrug. Apparently the grey-haired man felt the explanation had been handled.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright then,” Tai murmurs out, “so back to my first question, how much did you pay for the shirt? Last time you saw one you spent almost five days trying to convince me you should take out a mortgage to buy it”</p><p> </p><p>“... u-uh,” Ruby starts, dreading the subject, even though she knew she got it at a steal, “w-well”</p><p> </p><p>“Six hundred Lien, dad” Yang blurts out, jaw set as though <em> daring </em> her father to make a big deal out of the number, “I threw two hundred of my own money to help Rubes cover the cost. You and I <em> both </em> know how long she’s wanted that shirt”</p><p> </p><p>Taiyang looks to be mulling the number over in his head for a moment before nodding in acceptance.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright…” He turns to his youngest daughter, a soft smile on his face, “so, what do you want to do with it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m thinking we get it placed in a shadow box,” Ruby responds immediately, having long thought about how to display the collector’s piece years ago, “theeeeen, maybe hang it up in the front office?”</p><p> </p><p>That earns a chuckle from her father who nods, fingers folding the shirt carefully, he looks down at the shirt a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, that sounds perfect, Ruby,” He acquiesces breezily, before looking between his two daughters, “NOW! Both of you need to get your butts in the gym. I’ll keep the place open a bit later so the two of you can play catch up. Knowing Weiss, she’ll probably be keen to take advantage of the extended hours so just keep an eye on her as the day goes on. Oh and Qrow?”</p><p> </p><p>Qrow’s brow raises at his name being called.</p><p> </p><p>“Work beckons, buddy,” Tai gestures to his office, earning a curious look from both of his daughters, “we got some paperwork to go over”</p><p> </p><p>‘Paperwork…’ Ruby feels that familiar tug of excitement in her chest, understanding what that likely alluded to, ‘... wonder who got offered a fight’</p><p> </p><p>Not waiting to try and glean any more information on which member of Team XL was slated to fight next, Ruby and Yang walk past the office, down a short hallway, and turn into the door of the women’s change room.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Honey I’m hooooooome </em>” Yang beckons out in a melodic voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> goody </em>” comes the acerbic response from the other side of the row of lockers that stretched the majority of the change room, earning a snort from Yang as she split off from her baby sister to go to her personal locker.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby’s own locker was on the opposite side of the row, and as she rounds the other side she spots the woman who’d made such a dry barb at her elder sister’s announcement, seated on a bench and wrapping her ankles in athletic tape.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Weiss, sorry we’re late,” Ruby has the good sense to appear chastened despite the lack of admonishment over her tardiness, “Blake and Ilia at least help today?”</p><p> </p><p>This earns a snort from the white-haired woman, Ruby keeping her ornery friend in the corner of her eye while her practised hands quickly run through the combination on her locker, she notes the hunch in Weiss’ shoulders at the mention of the two most recent additions to their fight camp.</p><p> </p><p>“Only if I asked…” Weiss tries to affect a bland tone, but Ruby can <em> hear </em> the frustration beneath it, “... and neither of them seemed all that happy about it. I mean I can’t really blame them, I’m still a Schnee”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’re Weiss first and foremost,” Ruby assures her friend as she swings the locker door open and fishes out her flip-flops, board shorts, quick-dry muscle shirt and sports bra before slamming the door shut and flopping onto the bench alongside her friend, sending her a crooked grin, “your family name is just like… an <em> unfortunate </em> coincidence! Training around humans is still new to them, they’ll warm up to you!”</p><p> </p><p>“It's been six months, Ruby,” The ivory-haired woman sighs before biting off the tape, “and in half that time, Blake and Yang have become thick as thieves while you’ve even managed to make Ilia not insult you under her breath in that time”</p><p> </p><p>That causes Ruby to chuckle, remembering the chameleon faunus’ combative nature that nearly caused her to get in a fight with each individual member of the Team XL family.</p><p> </p><p>“True,” Ruby admits, shuffling out of her jeans, “but Yang’s trying to woo Blake-”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shut up, Rubes!” </em> Her sister’s outage cry comes from the other side of the lockers, causing a wry smile to betray Weiss’ troubled frown.</p><p> </p><p>“-so that was prolly gonna happen anyways, as for Ilia?” The dark-haired girl shrugs, “We both share a hobby”</p><p> </p><p>“Video Games aren’t a hobby” Schnee states as she reaches under the bench and procures a shaker bottle Ruby notes with a raised eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Not with <em> that </em> attitude,” Ruby defends with a chuckle as she watches Weiss take a deep breath before tipping the bottle back and downing a fair amount of the protein shake, “So, you got the fight offer, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>Weiss nods as she observes the bottle in her hand with a sort of detached glaze prominent in her eyes. From around the corner Yang pads on flip-flop clad feet, already clad in her fight shorts and sports bra as she leans against the locker, exchanging a glance with her younger sister before turning her gaze back to their pale teammate.</p><p> </p><p>“Bantamweight” It isn’t a question coming from Yang, but the ivory haired woman still nods, earning sighs of sympathy from both sisters.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss had long been the smallest member of Team XL until Ilia had joined the fight camp. The Schnee walked around on a bad day barely brushing a hundred and thirty pounds. A natural for the women’s flyweight division and even strawweight with a bit of dieting, the only problem lay in the RFL’s almost complete lack of interest in promoting any women’s division below the bantamweight division.</p><p> </p><p>As such, since making the transition from mere Mistrali Jiu-Jitsu competitions to the far broader spectrum of mixed martial arts, Weiss basically punished herself during her work up to take on calories and drive her weight up to competition level. Gone were salads without dressing, lean grilled chicken and lightly seasoned fish… in came protein shakes and peanut butter. Even the occasional carb.</p><p> </p><p>When <em> the </em> infamous Weiss Schnee had announced she was forfeiting her position of Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company to pursue a career in mixed martial arts over three years ago, Yang and Ruby had been infinitely amused and interested in the unexpected statement, fully expecting the former Heiress to dabble in <em> their </em> pool, realize it was a far cry from the Mistrali Jiu-Jitsu competitions she’d proven herself dominant in, and then fuck off back to her father to spend the remained of her life living in luxurious squalor.</p><p> </p><p>Two and a half years ago, they were stunned to see that same woman standing proudly in the lobby, discussing her membership to Team XL with their father. Her trademark white hair, her glacial blue eyes and her <em> infamous </em> scar betraying none of the nervousness and trepidation that either sister had expected from her.</p><p> </p><p>Two years ago, when her first official fight with Team XL was announced at bantamweight in a smaller regional fight promotion, the sisters had laughed and voiced their jealousy to the driven and serious woman they were slowly warming up to about the fact that she’d get to eat whatever she wanted to put on enough calories to make weight.</p><p> </p><p>Those assumptions, just as with every other one they’d made about the former heiress, was forced to die on their lips as they witnessed their teammate make herself absolutely miserable, packing on near twelve pounds to make weight by slugging back protein shake after protein shake, often to the point of driving herself into a hunched over ball of vomiting misery in the bathroom in between training drills.</p><p> </p><p>“First fight RFL’s offered me that isn’t one of their associate promotions,” Weiss states with a sigh before taking another long mouthful of her shake, “Brothers know I wasn’t going to turn it down”</p><p> </p><p>Tying the waist of her board shorts and adjusting her sports bra, Ruby shoves her now bare feet into her flip flops before stuffing her street clothes back into the locker, she shuts the door and slips the combination lock closed before turning to lean against it, sympathetic silver gaze connecting with her friend’s icy blue.</p><p> </p><p>“Who’d they offer you?” The younger Xiao Long-Rose inquires.</p><p> </p><p>“Valkyrie” Weiss states, voice level, belying none of the nervousness Ruby knew she had to be feeling.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shit </em>,” Yang grumbles a few feet away, “Nora’s a bad matchup for you, Snow Queen”</p><p> </p><p>Normally Weiss would have a grievance to air at the use of the much-maligned nickname Yang had bestowed upon her during her first few months at the Team XL gym, instead of throwing a barb back, the white-haired woman just nodded in agreement.</p><p> </p><p>“Taiyang’s finalizing the contract with Ozpin over the next few days,” Weiss states simply, busying her hands by double and triple checking the tape around her ankles, “buuuuut I guess I should be happy that I finally get to make my nationally televised MMA debut”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice is tinted with actual pride, rather than the stoic pride foisted upon her from a serious and joyless family life of affluence, and causes Ruby to smile back at her friend. It was sometimes hard to forget that despite having three professional fights in mixed martial arts, Weiss had not been doing so in front of a worldwide audience.</p><p> </p><p>Not to say she didn’t have experience being under scrutiny by the world at large, just that this would be the first time it had been so on her terms.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, sorry Yang and I were late, seriously,” Ruby starts, suddenly realizing exactly how anxious Weiss must have been earlier having been only able to deal with the two more aloof members of their camp while the sisters were away, “Dad’s gonna keep the gym open a couple hours later for us, what do you need us to help with?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Thank you </em>,” Weiss states with genuine sincerity, before taking a moment to roll some ideas around the day’s workout, “Valkyrie’s reliant on Animbo, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right,” Yang confirms, stepping forward, arms crossed as she recalled a fight she’d had with the same woman years prior, “and she’s crazy strong, she likes to grind and pressure on the ground. On the plus side, Nora’s not much for patience or head movement, and while she punches like a mule, she telegraphs them about a week in advance”</p><p> </p><p>Weiss laughs at Yang’s personal assessment of the high-energy redhead that loomed on Schnee’s professional horizon.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re saying that in order for me to beat her, I need to be good at all the things I’m <em> not </em>,” The chuckle is genuine despite the sardonic comment leavin Weiss’ mouth in her telltale Atlesian accent, “ugh, this fight is going to hurt”</p><p> </p><p>The sisters hold out a hand each, which Weiss reaches grasps and is gratefully pulled to her fight. Grabbing her protein shake, the white-haired woman follows the sisters as they walk the familiar route from the changeroom out to the open gym, removing their flip-flops before stepping on the blue mats that comprise about thirty percent of the gym’s floor.</p><p> </p><p>Their presence causes a lull from the ring by the far end of the room, where Ilia had Blake throwing combination punches at the set of pads she had over either hand, as well as the worn but reliable body protector that gave Ilia’s normally slim profile a somewhat comically exaggerated heft.</p><p> </p><p>Blake takes a step back from her fellow faunus, sucking in a deep breath passed her mouth guard before giving a short nod to the trio. Rather than acknowledge their presence alongside her friend, Ilia reaches out and swats across the back of the feline faunus’ head, growling at her to focus. For her part Blake growls back and unheard curse, but still adopts her fighting stance and starts throwing combinations as Ilia calls out the numbered punches.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby hears Yang’s chuckle at the display.</p><p> </p><p>“Possessive, ain’t she?” Yang stage whispers to her sister, earning a short bark of laughter from Weiss as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe she just wants Blake to keep her focus?” Ruby offers lamely, keenly aware that Ilia was just prickly in regards to her human peers.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, it’s hard to focus when I’m around,” Yang states with her nose upturned in faux-haughtiness that reminded the two within earshot of a regal queen holding court, before Yang’s expression drops into her patented cocky grin, “I mean have you seen me? I’m awesome! Blake’s just letting her eyes get their daily dose of vitamin Yang!”</p><p> </p><p>“Been working on that one?” Weiss asks before draining the last of her shake.</p><p> </p><p>“Only for a couple days,” Yang admits before starting her stretches, “think it’ll work on her?”</p><p> </p><p>“If your goal is to make sure she never wants to talk to you, yes” Ruby states flatly before following her big sister’s lead, rolling her shoulder slowly, feeling every possible resistance ebb and flow away as the muscle and sinew roll proficiently around bone, loosening and relaxing in equal measure.</p><p> </p><p>The three fall into a silent warmup, Weiss’ being predictably shorter as she had already been halfway through her own workout before the sisters had arrived at the gym. The only sounds echoing in the gym being Ilia’s instructions to Blake and the solid, satisfying thud of leather meeting leather, each blow causing every single member of the fight team to feel it reverb familiarly in their chests.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling looser, both sisters stand to regard Weiss.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Animbo…” Yang starts, cutting through the contented silence that had fallen over the gym, “... pressure heavy, top game wrestling technique with a focus on throws and leg submissions. What aspect of fighting against it do you want to do first?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” The former heiress starts, having clearly had enough time to consider her gameplan, “submission defense should probably be what I focus on the least. I think it would probably be best to work on takedown defense, and fighting back to a vertical base from the ground”</p><p> </p><p>Both sister’s nod in agreement at that assessment, with her proficiency in MJJ, submission defence might have been the easiest thing for Weiss to practice, but it was easily one of the elements of her game that she needed the least amount of work on, especially in regards to this fight. </p><p> </p><p>Yang steps forward then, “Alrighty, two minute rounds of warding off takedowns. Ruby and I will alternate with one another. Each takedown is an additional burpee on our set during cooldown, <em> two more </em> if you get taken down and put beneath us in side mount”</p><p> </p><p>Weiss nods, to most the concept would sound horrifying but both sisters knew their ivory-haired teammate would take the drill as the challenge it was meant to be.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Weiss Schnee does not back down from a challenge’ </em> Ruby’s inner voice echoed giddily as the two women started circling each other. </p><p> </p><p>Ruby notes the digital clock on the wall down to the second and keeps her attention split between it and the drill taking place before her as Yang hurriedly rushes in, attempting to snatch Weiss’ legs into a double, only for the smaller woman to sneak her right hand under Yang’s left bicep and sprawl out. The blond brawler tries to continue pushing, hoping the movement might topple her teammate backwards, but Weiss lifts and twists, grunting with effort as the larger woman’s momentum and power carries her powerful frame <em> past </em> her instead of <em> through </em> her.</p><p> </p><p>Yang regains her feet with a grin, not taking the matter of getting stuffed on a takedown personally, she gives Weiss a nod of approval before starting in again. The white haired woman returning it as she awaits the next attempt.</p><p> </p><p>There would be no punches thrown, no feinted kicks during this drill. That would come in the following weeks, certainly. The actions simulating what would be likely to happen during the genuine article, using striking to open up takedowns. For now though, it was all about focusing on the singular techniques in question, forcing Weiss to commit the action of stopping a takedown to muscle memory, to <em> base instinct </em>, until it was second nature, until she was confident in it, only then would they move on to the next, logical step.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss does admirably as the two minutes comes to an end, managing to stuff every attempt by the much larger and more powerful Yang as Ruby calls time before swapping around with the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister, slapping hands as they pass each other and Ruby finds herself staring into those icy blues as she gets into her fighting stance.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, no biting, eye gouging, steel chairs OR hockey skate stabbings,” Yang calls out as she watches the seconds roll to the nearest minute, “aaaaaaaaaaand begin!”</p><p> </p><p>With that Ruby shoots across the mat, ignoring the leftover aches and pains of her previous night’s fight as she gauges Weiss’ preparation before abandoning hesitance and diving forward, keeping her back straight to try and keep her teammate from popping her hips and taking away her power, even as the white-haired fighter guillotines her neck and pushes back.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands manage to lock behind Weiss’ left thigh and she tries to power upwards, taking away the smaller fighter’s vertical stability, Ruby loops her left leg behind her teammates’ right calf and pushes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Shit </em>” Ruby hears the former heiress’ uncharacteristic curse before driving her onto her back on the mat. Despite the takedown, the white-haired woman still manages to keep Ruby’s hips between her own thighs, keeping her in a closed guard.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s one!” Yang calls, earning a grumble from Weiss as Ruby stands, offering her hand to help her teammate up.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss accepts, straightening herself out, she reaches out and bumps Ruby’s proffered fist with her own before they step back again.</p><p> </p><p>A pause, and Ruby steps in, hoping to repeat the process.</p><p> </p><p>And so their day went.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Weight classes in mixed martial arts are fickle, stressful and sometimes even dangerous things. Like Anthony "Rumble" Johnson spending years nearly killing himself trying to drop down to middleweight, or Sakuraba routinely choosing to fight guys that outweighed him by roughly one bag of quick-dry cement.</p><p>I quite enjoyed detailing the struggle of a fighter trying to actually GAIN weight to fight.</p><p>Also, yes, I'm aware Mistrali Jiu-Jitsu is something of a cop out for a renamed martial art, I spent all my creativity changing "Sambo" to "Animbo".</p><p>Thank you to anyone that's reading, and please comment and send constructive criticism as you please.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Out Cold I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ruby tries to close the rift between her friends and family, and her complicated, irascible faunus teammate Ilia.</p><p>Tries being the operative word.</p><p>Meanwhile, Weiss reminisces upon a cold and cruel memory.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ruby was quickly changing into a pair of faded grey sweatpants and a red tank top, her hair still damp from the hot shower that had followed her cool down and ice bath at the end of yet another long day of training.</p><p> </p><p>It had been three days since Weiss had accepted the fight against Nora Valkyrie, and like a good team was supposed to, the remainder of Team XL had been focused on pushing the former heiress to being the best she possibly could during fight time. Even if it required Tai and Qrow wrangling the oftentimes unsociable pair of faunus into the fold.</p><p> </p><p>They still put up a fuss as they were led to spar with the Schnee, occasionally scoffing at her attempts to engage them on a personal level - and one time Ilia all but ridiculing Weiss’ lackluster striking during a couple of rounds wight the gloves - but the ivory-haired woman played it off, understanding how the duo were looking at her as a member of her troubled family instead of as the individual she was.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby had to say, the day the two faunus got over that hurdle and realized that Weiss Schnee didn’t exist in her name, but as her own person, they were going to feel genuinely horrible thinking about the moments they outright ignored the genuine <em> thanks </em> that her white-haired friend would give them each and every time they trained.</p><p> </p><p>‘It has to happen someday’ Ruby thinks, as she grabs her beloved high-top sneakers and shuts the door to her locker.</p><p> </p><p>Yang had been the first one out that day, citing getting work done on her car to excuse herself from the last few conditioning drills. Qrow hadn’t looked all that enthused by it, but since his eldest niece tended to be the one that often fished him out of the bar while he was three sheets to the wind two or three nights a week, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.</p><p> </p><p>Blake and Ilia of course remained joined at the hip. More at the short chameleon faunus’ insistence, what had initially been something of an endearing trait to the rest of the fighting camp - Ilia’s <em> mother hen </em> nature - had run its goodwill out months ago and now often chaffed Yang and Tai. At first they could pass it off as nerves, maybe even shyness, but as time wore on it sank in that at least with Amitola, it was <em> distrust </em>.</p><p> </p><p>With Blake, who knew? She was aloof and introverted, yet still had flashes of social grace, mostly revolving around a certain, outgoing blonde pugilist that went out of her way to try and associate with her.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss was currently taking her time with her cooldown, to the point where Ruby had to wonder if she’d even <em> made it </em> to the ice bath yet. The former heiress said it was meticulousness, a perfectionist habit that had been drilled into her since youth by the demands of her father’s unreasonable demands. Jacques Schnee’s <em> need </em> to have even his progeny appear immaculate in the public eye.</p><p> </p><p>While there was no doubt a part of that statement that Ruby knew to be true, she couldn’t help but feel that Weiss’ current post-exercise habits were steeped in nerves and fretting. The training for any competitive match was hard, and everyone at Team XL had gone into fights with mild injuries because of it, but this was the ivory-haired woman’s <em> first time </em> in an RFL cage.</p><p> </p><p>Simply put, Weiss was feeling the pressure to perform, and in this case it was an imposition she’d willingly placed herself into. There was no familial expectations for her to reach for, this was something <em> Weiss wanted </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby had to believe it was a lot to think about.</p><p> </p><p>“Ruby?” A voice calls out quietly, drawing the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister from her internal musings to look over at the face of her chameleon-trait bearing teammate, Ilia.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey! Didn’t hear anybody come in, kinda spaced out for a moment there…” Ruby turns her eyes from Ilia’s intense gaze, remembering that while they - on brief occasions - would talk video games from time to time, they still weren’t anything close to being considered friends, “... uh, sorry if I didn’t hear you calling for me. I thought you’d left with Blake already”</p><p> </p><p>Ilia stuffs her hands into her jean pockets, looking decidedly uncomfortable before she shrugs, trying to play the flash of emotion off, “Well I <em> would </em>be, but Taiyang caught me on the way out, said he had something to discuss with you and I”</p><p> </p><p>‘Well that’s new’ Ruby’s mind muses.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, is dad in the office?” The dark-haired girl asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Ilia responds briskly before turning to exit, “I-I don’t suppose you know what he’d want to talk with us about?”</p><p> </p><p>“No clue,” Ruby sighs, pushing to her feet and following the faunus woman out into the connecting hall between the locker room and the main foyer of the gym. As they pass by the front reception area, Ruby notes the framed shadowbox that holds her mother’s shirt hung up in a place of prominence on the wall. Apparently the day she’d gotten it, Qrow had spent the majority of the night sleepless assembling the shadow box itself in his makeshift woodworking shop that took up a good portion of his garage, “Maybe we both got fight offers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yay, you get to be on proper RFL shows and I get to fight in some barely televised Vale Tudo card… <em> again, </em>” To Ilia’s credit, Ruby fully sympathized with her faunus teammate’s bitterness on this one, given she had the same problem as Weiss, carrying a naturally lighter frame for two divisions that the larger promotion seemingly had no interest in displaying themselves, “at this point I’d take an openweight fight just to get on pay-per-view proper”</p><p> </p><p>Not knowing if laughing would offend Ilia, Ruby manages to <em> just barely </em> wrangle an open laugh to a quiet chuckle… which she still feels bad about upon seeing Ilia’s shoulders drop, and then a little bit worse as the spots many assumed were freckles across the slight-framed woman’s shoulders turned pink in embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry…” Ruby manages lamely, even though she meant it.</p><p> </p><p>An openweight fight in a league as competitive and reliant on rankings as the Remnant Fighting League was rare. The literal type of rare where when it was scheduled it was talked about in hushed whispers across fan-forums, and the reason that one was booked by the RFL always came down to one of two reasons.</p><p> </p><p><em> Number One: </em> Two retired legends lacing up their proverbial boots one last time to finish a long standing war of words with one another. Which usually made anyone in the know laugh at that marketing ploy, as even the most severe of bad blood tended to be squashed <em> years </em> before any final showdown would be scheduled. It was just a campaign to seek the true goal of booking such a fight: <b> <em>Money.</em> </b> The fights were usually nostalgic, if not outright painful to watch, as two fighters past their primes slowly realized that despite keeping in shape compared to the average middle-aged former athlete, there was simply no way for their bodies to keep up with the rigorous training of a primed MMA athlete.</p><p> </p><p><em> Number Two: </em> A celebrity or a popular athlete got the damn <em> fool notion </em> that what people like Ilia and the rest of Team XL <em> lived and breathed </em>was both easy and profitable, and went out of their way to deride and belittle some of the sport’s most lethal over social media until their anger gave way and they accepted the honor of getting to punch a social media all-star’s orbital bones out of the back of their head.</p><p> </p><p>Reason number two was a publicity stunt in the most embarrassing way, the celebrity or athlete from the other sport would try to sound respectful around the massive contusion that was formerly their face, the fighter in question would look smug in front of the camera but secretly feel <em> really awful </em> , and the accusations of mixed martial arts as a whole being regarded as ‘ <em> cock-fighting’ </em> would gain another couple stutter steps towards gaining traction.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, Ruby found it an embarrassment that left the entire sport looking suspect in its wake. The fact that there were countless fighters just like the faunus girl walking ahead of her would give just about anything to be granted the boon of an actual, <em> competitive </em> openweight bout against another, legitimately trained participant, instead of the carnival show it always inevitably turned out to be was something of a mild tragedy in the dark-haired woman’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>By the time they reach the open door of Taiyang’s office, Ilia has managed to wrangle her spots back to their natural color. Or at least the most common color her ‘<em>freckles’ </em> were, Ruby was neither brave nor foolish enough to ask her prickly teammate if she actually <em> had </em> a natural complexion that took precedence over others, and frankly, besides her own curiosity, it really didn’t matter to the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Coach Xiao Long?” Ilia’s tone comes out somewhere between grudging and respectful, as though there was an internal war over the faunus’ opinion torn between her appreciation of his abilities… and the fact that he was human, “I brought Ruby”</p><p> </p><p>“Great!” Taiyang proclaims, finishing with a form in front of him as he motions for the two women to enter, “Close the door, take a seat and I’ll be with you as soon as I get this damn insurance form done”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby closes the door before she flops into the chair beside Ilia and, as was common with the chameleon faunus, the room fell into an audible silence. The sounds of Taiyang’s pen scratching across parchment and the shuffling of pages being the only thing to tear through the oppressive weight of <em> nothingness </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby cracked in less than twenty seconds, turning to Ilia with a hopeful look on her face, which in turn draws a suspicious, if <em> bland </em> look from the freckled woman.</p><p> </p><p>“So Dusk Souls 3 is coming out this weekend, are you getting it?” Ruby inquires excitedly, hoping against hope that the game was one of the franchises her teammate was into, “I got my pre-order bonus in the mail earlier this week so I am <em> pumped </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately it’s not in the budget this week,” Ilia responds, an undercurrent of disappointment running through her admission, “Blake and I still have to do the groceries and I owe her gas money still, plus I’m going to be pulling doubles all weekend… won’t have much time”</p><p> </p><p>Ilia doesn’t comment on <em> why </em> she still has a day job, she doesn’t have to, it tied back into being in a weight division that simply didn’t <em> earn </em> the big bucks, according to the RFL. The defeat in her tone still gives Ruby a wince as she feels a spike of guilt bolt through her. </p><p> </p><p>Every other member of Team XL had money; Yang was in the top of the Bantamweight division and even made her presence known in the Featherweight division as well, Ruby still lived at home and was considered one of the most promising prospects in the sport with a champion’s pedigree afforded by her late mother, Weiss Schnee may have been a <em> former heiress </em> but her trust fund alone was enough to have the ivory-haired woman living in luxury for the next twelve lifetimes… even Blake, Ilia’s best friend who’d joined the Team XL gym after a highly publicized split from their former camp <b> <em>White Fang Fight Club</em> </b> was already a standout in the RFL’s popular Bantamweight division, and had managed to accumulate financial reserves from several generous fight purses and the intellect to invest what excesses she had earned wisely.</p><p> </p><p>Ilia though? She only continued to pursue her fight dreams through sheer, stubborn <em> fortitude </em> . Her costs were offset by living with the aloof cat faunus, bumming rides for gas money and chipping in for groceries, but she wasn’t coasting, and she certainly wasn’t <em> financially comfortable. </em></p><p> </p><p>Fighting wasn’t cheap, and while Taiyang Xiao Long did his best to truncate his business fees, he was still running exactly that, <em> a business </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby also had the impression that Ilia’s pride would be wounded irreparably if her father attempted to make any special exceptions on her behalf.</p><p> </p><p>“W-well,” Ruby offers after an awkward moment, “if you want to borrow it, lemme know, kay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good,” <em> There it was </em> , the brick wall in Ilia’s tone that clearly stated that she didn’t need or want Ruby’s offer, <em> her human charity </em> , “thank you, though. <em> ” </em></p><p> </p><p>‘What a distressing way to say “fuck you”’ Ruby groans internally.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Taiyang interrupts the silence, his normal jovial tone tinged with a hint of gruff annoyance that he fails to police entirely at the interaction that he’d obviously been tracking despite his focus being devoted to the paperwork before him, “I called you both in here because of Weiss’ upcoming fight, it just got finalized today and is taking place September ninth, so we’ve got less than ten weeks to ensure that our <em> team </em> is ready to take the win”</p><p> </p><p>He steeps his fingers beneath his chin, considering his next words and reminding his youngest child once again that for all the lame dad jokes and easy smiles, when it concerned the success of his gym and his students, there was a cunning and critical mind behind the scruff and soft blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What I want from the both of you, <em> right now </em>,” His eyes drag from Ruby’s silver eyes to Ilia’s gunmetal grey - currently - and back again, “is a starting point. Qrow and I have been scarce what with meeting lawyers and other such contract wrangling, but I know for a fact Qrow’s brought the team together to start focusing on Weiss’ improvement”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby felt indecision run through her, starting to grasp her father’s intent for this meeting. She never enjoyed feeling put beneath a critical eye, but often accepted it for her own growth… casting her own critical eye on someone else, let alone a <em> friend? </em> </p><p> </p><p>It made her uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“Why us?” Ilia asks, suspicion vacant in place of genuine curiosity, “Neither Ruby nor I are anywhere close to your most experienced fighters…”</p><p> </p><p>That earns a sly grin from Taiyang, the type of expression normally only present before dropping a Dust awful pun on anyone within listening range. Luckily the conversation at hand was taking place under the auspices of professional conduct, so Ruby felt a sudden compulsion to ram her skull into the oak desk her father sat behind in order to enter blissful unconsciousness and avoid his awful jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, because you and my daughter are the two extremes where it concerns Weiss,” The words slip from him free of any judgement, a wonder considering his frustration over the Faunus members of his team’s anti-social tendencies, “Ruby’s her best friend, and likely to see more positives in regards to her current level, while you view Schnee under a more, uh, <em> critical light” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Hey now,” Ilia holds her hands up, palms out as though to defend herself from the accusation, “Blake has no love for her either”</p><p> </p><p>“The difference,” Tai responds with a tired sigh, running his right hand across his face as he takes a moment to dispel his frustration, “is that Blake can at least ignore Weiss’ presence. You are at <em> best </em> actively hostile towards her when you notice that the two of you happen to occupy the same ZIP code…”</p><p> </p><p>A snort that Ruby can’t help but feel is tinged with humor escapes Ilia, who still slumps back and crosses her arms in a flagrant show of displeasure at being asked <em> anything </em> about the former heiress of the SDC.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, firstly you Rubes,” Tai leans back in his chair, idly swivelling it back and forth a few inches each way as he regards his daughter, “Weiss’ current state versus Nora Valkyrie, your take, be as brutally honest as you can…”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby sighs, knowing that despite her nature there was going to be nothing <em> brutal </em> about her honesty and everyone in the room knew it.</p><p> </p><p>“Weiss’ takedown defense is actually really solid considering she only started wrestling since taking up mixed martial arts, I’m also confident in her ability to fend off whatever submissions Nora might try to slap onto her, technique above power and all that jazz…” The younger of the Xiao Long-Rose sisters pauses, considering something, “... it’s going to be a struggle to get Weiss to break her habit of trying to pull guard and take the fight to the ground. Mistrali Jiu Jitsu only goes so far against high pressure top game and Nora takes <em> forever </em> to get tired. As for stand up? <em> Well… it could be better…” </em></p><p> </p><p>“What Ruby means to say,” Ilia interjects, clearly annoyed by her teammate’s soft-selling of the former heiress’ shortcomings, “is that Weiss’ standup is garbage. This fight is legitimately the <em> worst </em> possible match up for her. Ruby and Yang have the right idea of trying to break <em> Princess Schnee </em> of her habit of lying on her back and taking it, but that means squat if we don’t stress stick and move tactics. Valkyrie isn’t the most accurate striker, but she throws bombs, and only one needs to land to put our very own member of <em> Atlesian Royalty </em> to sleep”</p><p> </p><p>“Ilia…” Ruby’s voice carries a hint of genuine anger at the barbs Ilia manages to lace through her assessment of their peer, “Weiss doesn’t deserve that”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” Ilia brushes the warning off but doesn’t take it any further, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead on Tai, “my point is, if you want Weiss to at least end the fight not resembling a white-haired bug splattered across a car window, she needs to work on head movement, creating distance, and enough aggression to keep working jabs and leg kicks to score enough points with the judges to take each round”</p><p> </p><p>“And if Nora slips up and gives Weiss a chance to freely lock on a submission, then all the better” Taiyang finishes, getting a nod from the chameleon faunus.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby has to admit that despite the sheer <em> harshness </em> that littered the chameleon faunus’ assessment, it was filled with near irrefutable facts where it concerned the fight in question. Weiss was being thrown into a stylistic nightmare scenario in this fight.</p><p> </p><p>While Ilia had spoken of the strategy in broad strokes, Ruby knew it would give her father and Qrow something to work with, something to sharpen and mold as they took the time to watch Weiss evolve in the coming months and begin forming more nuanced and technical gameplans so that when the opening bell rang, the former heiress wasn’t just walking into the fight as a remarkably fit <em> victim. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Okay then, here’s what we’re going to do starting tomorrow,” Taiyang states with an air of finality, “this is Weiss’ first fight in the RFL proper, and it’s happening in Mantle - her home country - so we’re going to make sure she leaves an impression, on both Valkyrie <em> and </em> the Atlesian Press”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby and Ilia both blink in stunned silence at Taiyang’s reveal of the fight location, the smirk breaking across the gym owner’s face turning near-predatory as he lets his displeasure at the Kingdom Of Atlas’ air of nobility shine through… slightly bolstered by his own personal history fending off the Atlesian press for <em> months </em> after Weiss had elected to make Team XL her new home.</p><p> </p><p>“Yang and Qrow are going to be stressing boxing to Weiss, it’s gonna be one of her key focuses, the other key focus means that she’s going to be working on her footwork with Blake almost <em> every </em> day, first thing in the morning,” Ilia looks ready to object, but her coach kills the words in her throat with a pointed stare, “<em>don’t fight me on this, Ilia. </em> Blake’s an incredible counter fighter and that’s what Weiss needs for this. For alternating drills, Yang will take an active role in Schnee’s strength training while the two of you will work conditioning and grappling drills”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby nods in response, it takes Ilia a moment of grade-A professional sulking, but then she too nods in understanding, earning a chuckle from the Xiao Long patriarch.</p><p> </p><p>“Grappling and conditioning are where Weiss is most comfortable. Obviously don’t take it easy on her,” This draws a scoff from Ilia that the blond man dutifully ignores, “but over the course of the next couple of weeks, those drills are what I’m depending on to keep her confidence up”</p><p> </p><p>“Got it!” Ruby all but cheers, fist pumping enthusiastically in the air.</p><p> </p><p>“... ugh, <em> got it… </em>” Ilia cedes to her coach’s direction with all the grace of a prisoner sobbing around their final cigarette while waiting for their firing squad to arrive.</p><p> </p><p>“Good to hear,” Taiyang smirks at his two trainees before gesturing the door, “now, I have a call to RFL’s promotion concerning a Team XL beanie of all things. Sorry for keeping you Ilia, and Ruby, are you going to wait and get a ride home with me?”</p><p> </p><p>As tired as the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister felt, physically at least, she found the idea of heading home and not doing something outside of training, eating and sleeping to be stifling.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to see if Weiss wants to hang out tonight, she did offer to help me dye my hair a few weeks ago,” She muses, getting to her feet along with Ilia and making her way to the office door, “If she’s not up to it I guess I’ll just wait around”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait around? Young missy, if you’re still here when I leave I fully expect the garbages in the building to have been taken out and the locker room mopped!" Taiyang bellows with mock indignation.</p><p> </p><p>“Still haven’t found a new cleaner, huh?” The chameleon faunus chuckles as she steps through the door Ruby opens for her.</p><p> </p><p>It had been something of a running joke among Team XL over the past two months that any time a member of the gym found themselves stuck there without any further training for the day that they were <em> strongly encouraged </em> to pick up broom and mop and perform a quick spot-cleaning of the building. While everyone put on an affronted face at being expected to do so, they all understood the reason behind it, as the previous janitor, that had been on the payroll had been forced to move to Menagerie due to family reasons, and the <em> professional cleaning service </em> that Tai had hired to replace him was <em> awful </em> . Often sending bored teens who routinely missed half the rooms in the gym, and those they <em> did </em> remember to clean were done in such a half-assed manner that they might well have never bothered.</p><p> </p><p>“You know dad…” Ruby starts, reaching out to tap Ilia’s shoulder before she got too far away, causing her peer to turn around curiously before Ruby looked back to face her father, “... the cleaning company <em> has </em> basically already voided their contract like a million times, and we pay better than say, a gas station”</p><p> </p><p>Taiyang raises an eyebrow at the suggestion.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not, Rose,” Ilia states firmly, the younger Xiao Long-Rose turns back to face her and flinches at the genuinely stormy expression ripping across the faunus’ face, “my job might suck, but I’m not going to become entirely reliant on this gym until I can make enough money to not need a day job at all”</p><p> </p><p>“B-but we can h-” Ruby tries to defend her idea, but feels the steam leave her body as she watches Ilia carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m not your fucking <em> housepet, </em>Ruby, I’m here to train and fight. Now I have to go do the work that I choose” With that final statement Ilia turns and heads towards the front entrance of the gym, pulling out her scroll, likely to call for her roommate to come pick her up.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I didn’t mean it that way </em>” Ruby calls to her back, too quiet for anyone to hear.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>_______________</p><p> </p><p>Weiss stands beside the fresh ice bath, satisfied at it’s appearance after having spent the last half hour after her cooldown and stretches emptying and refilling the tub. She supposes she <em> should </em>appreciate the gesture that Ruby had left it full for her, but the former heiress wouldn’t dare allow herself to slip into someone else’s bathwater, even if it were an ice bath and she was clad in her single piece bathing suit.</p><p> </p><p>Despite her aching muscles, she’d pulled the plug and run a boiling hot tap, melting and washing away the ice before plugging the drain up and starting the whole process again. Arms and legs sluggish in protest as she walked back and forth between the tub and ice machine until she was satisfied before flipping the water back on to cool.</p><p> </p><p>Now, however, was the most difficult process.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Getting into the Brothers-forsaken thing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A moment turns into a minute, the former heiress standing at the lip of the tub, shuffling uncomfortably. She’s keenly aware of how foolish she must look, and that if Yang or Ruby were there, they’d be yelling at her to just jump in, all in one go.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ilia would probably shove me <em> under </em> the water’ The ivory-haired woman thinks with a note of bitter amusement.</p><p> </p><p>Then Weiss Schnee does something she’ll be cursing herself for throughout the next week and reaches out with a hesitant toe…</p><p> </p><p>… and <em> just </em> barely touches the icy surface with her toe.</p><p> </p><p>The shiver down her back is instantaneous, the gooseflesh pimpling along normally flawless alabaster with aplomb and Weiss stomps her foot, cursing in old Atlesian while stomping her feet angrily, both at the cold and the fact that she’d decided to do that.</p><p> </p><p>Still, the former heiress feels like she’s forgetting something.</p><p> </p><p>‘My scroll!’ She realizes, slipping her feet back into her flip-flops before padding through a set of side doors that kept the locker room separated from the ice bath as well as the sauna on the opposite side if the small hallway that runs between the two areas, she quickly fetches the device and during the walk back sets a timer for twenty music and turns on some music.</p><p> </p><p>The melody starts to flow through the scroll’s speaker as she sets it on a nearby bench, not willing to get it wet if she were to react poorly to the freezing temperatures and thrash in indignation when she submerged.</p><p> </p><p>Notes start to fill her ears with familiarity. Not the upbeat cheer of the top forty pop hits Ruby recommended to her, nor the aggressive percussion and chugging, angry rhythms of Yang’s heavy metal inspired playlists. No, this music was something different, triggering both nostalgia and sadness in the same clefs and tones.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Weiss Schnee’s mind isn’t in Team XL’s fight camp in mid summer Vale, it’s in a place much colder, familiar and yet bereft of comforts. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A place where her blood pumped, but received no warmth. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With that, she steps into the ice water, her thoughts, her emotions galvanizing her against the bitter shock as she sits down, arms raised to settle on either side of the corrugated steel of the tub while the level of the water raises to just below her breast line.</p><p> </p><p>Vaguely, she can feel it, the biting stabs of frigid water so fierce it physically hurts, but she’s already too far into her head, disassociating, compartmentalizing. She’s thousands of miles away right now and just focused on breathing.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss Schnee has been here before. To a time that was more frigid than any Atlesian winter, and more painful that any moment she’d ever spent in training.</p><p> </p><p>Blue eyes, glacial and cold, more so than anything that had ever been set upon her skin close. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Then open. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She’s fourteen again, peeking out from behind a stage curtain out to the crowd, scanning the literal thousands of faces in attendance. Their eyes held judgement over a performance that had yet to even begin, gaudy dresses and immaculate high-society suits prim-and-proper on noble frames. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There’s anxiety running through her body like electricity, setting her nerves on end. Her vision becomes surreal and at the same time stark as it roves past stoic eyes and fake smiles, light smatterings of recognition hitting her briefly as she spares scant seconds when landing upon a face to judge whether the owner of said visage had appeared at any of her father’s various balls, or if they’d been to a high society recital before. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> After her twentieth flicker of recognition, a distressed lump forms in her throat with the realisation that the majority of the crowd was composed of the prior. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sycophants, buying seats to a show they held no interest in, turning a performance of passion into a business move, every seat purchased to curry favor with her father a slap to the hundreds of genuine people, hoping to view the art for what it was, turned away at the door. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The proverbial slap stings harder as her eyes finally trail over the three seats near the front that had been reserved for her family and finds them empty.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Even in her early teens Weiss can say that the only thing truly surprising about that turn out was the fact that she still felt betrayed just as starkly as the first time it had happened. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ever since her tenth birthday, it had become the norm. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Her mother was likely drunk back at the manor, basking in the squalor of endless amounts of cash and abetted by the poor woman’s consolation for love: Wine. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Her younger brother was no doubt chasing scraps of patriarchal affection through the long shadows of empty, soundless nothing. Trying to witness and catch sound of any variety of scandal or information that would get their father to pay some level of attention to him, if only for a second. The thought of Whitley’s twisting, warping perception of acceptance within the walls of the manor into a thing to be earned like a reward spiked an emotion through her that she simply couldn’t place. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Jacques Schnee was the person Weiss least cared to see, but was probably the most surprised he hadn’t. He rarely missed a chance to bask in whatever successes he could claim, whether they were his own or not. This entire event materialized from that need to be regarded as a success in all facets. His ego and arrogance only swelling under the press of people who were not truly impressed by his pilfered showcase when there was networking to do and Lien to be made. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Naturally, despite their notable absence, the seats were left empty like a moratorium, to the point where even the cherished butler of the SDC family, the very man who’d driven her to the performance hall on this night, Klein, was forced to stand in the back. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There had been no affection or encouragement when she’d been told about the event Jacques had decided to stage on a seeming whim. No warm advice or affection to assuage her nervousness or trepidation. It had simply been mandated because it was her father’s idea. He knew his daughter had been blessed with the gift of song, a voice high and clear and oh-so-pleasing to the palette of Atlas’ supposed ‘high society’. Not that he ever truly listened, there was no entertainment in his gaze or eyes when she’d performed at any number of his soirees, no tapping foot or nodding chin, only critical hunting for any mistake, any perceived flaw that he felt would lower his social stock on a ladder he was already aware he stood atop. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Her elder sister, Winter, was also absent, but despite the sting of that knowledge, there was some solace that the only blood member of her family that displayed warmth and caring unto her had a </em> <b> <em>reason</em> </b> <em> to not be there. A reason that made the lonely nights at home all the more frozen, the echoes in her life ring all the louder in the vast emptiness of her life, but something that Weiss could not fault her. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Weiss knew that if her sister were there, she’d hear what rang hollow in the ears of their father and his ilk, those familiar blue eyes and heavily policed smirk would sparkle in the performance hall like beacons of like as the sheer </em> <b> <em>passion</em> </b> <em> poured forth, and Winter would be proud of her. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Again, the solace that Weiss would have to glean from that hypothetical thought was purely imaginative. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A sigh escapes her and she lets the curtain fall back to its spot before turning and walking back over to the other performer she was to take the stage with. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The girl was a year younger than Weiss, and while painfully shy and withdrawn, easily attracted the eye and attention of anybody in the same room as her, her hair styled into two colors - pink and brown - split across straight locks, mirroring the heterochromatic eyes that rested in her cherubic face. She was slight, waif-like, even next to Weiss’ diminutive frame. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss remembered the first time the girl had told her her name, quietly picking at her sandwich in their private school’s atrium, hiding from the snide questions and potential bullies that searched around looking for her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Neo Politan</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss had nearly laughed then, but seeing both the girl’s discomfort as well as being well-disciplined in the art of hiding emotions in general from those that would seek to twist them she wrangled it in. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss figured she’d probably got that sort of reaction often enough. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> The atrium had been a quiet reprieve in the social battlefield that was Atlesian Secondary Education that Weiss had clung to for the past two years, and while there was a part of her that had been mildly perturbed at her sanctuary being disturbed by the presence of anyone - a notable rarity given the various societal misgivings among the well-to-do drones the upper crust in Atlas society called children turned their nose up at something so </em> <b> <em>pedestrian</em> </b> <em> as a self contained garden you could physically touch and interact with instead of just view dispassionately through glass - it was quickly stamped out by empathy and understanding. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “How’s it looking?” Neo’s near-whisper of a voice cut through Weiss’ recollection, almost startling her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss levels a shrug, the frown creasing her features aimed at the ground instead of her friend, “Sorry Neo, it appears we’re just playing for ourselves tonight…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If the ice-cream-themed girl’s saddened by the statement, she doesn’t show it, merely nodding as she understands the connotations of the Schnee daughter’s statement, she turns slightly, revealing the stand where her violin rests and absently thumbs a string. Weiss notes the action. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “A-are you okay?” Weiss queries, hands starting to fidget together and a twist of guilt in her stomach, recalling how she’d had to near-petition her father to allow her friend to share the stage with her for this event. Neo was far from outgoing, but had a passion for music that matched the heiress’ own. The final selling point that her currently-absent father acquiesced to was that Weiss’ friend was no singer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> She was - however - </em> <b> <em>stellar</em> </b> <em> on a violin. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A violin that her friend was currently looking at as though it were a bomb with an active timer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “... just nervous... “ Neo’s voice comes out again, it’s typical timid tone vibrating with an anxious quake, a far cry from the barely restrained excitement that shone through when the two girls had come up with the playlist and had continued through weeks of practices. Long hours in the music room after school improving and sharing in genuine laughter, “there’s still a lot of people out there, even if they’re not really here to listen to us” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well,” Weiss starts nervously, “we still worked hard a-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “-and all those high society assholes not here for your music can get fucked” A confident, smirking statement rings out, far softer and more restrained than its source is used to being, but still enough to scandalize the white-haired heiress. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Neo’s eyes shine with familial joy as she casts her eyes just past Weiss, who in turn whips around to confirm that Neo’s older… </em> <b> <em>something</em>  </b><em>has arrived</em><em>, he tilts his bowler cap and shoots the duo a wink. His name is Roman Torchwick, a man out of his teens but not mature enough to be considered an adult, and he made Weiss nervous. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> The man was brash, loud, abrasive, and brutally, </em> <b> <em>painfully</em> </b> <em> honest. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss was pretty much certain that the red-haired man was a career criminal. He smoked and drank in public flagrantly, routinely ridiculed Atlesian customs and culture, cussed like a Vacuoan street-peddler, and Weiss had even once watched the man slap the consciousness out of an upper-classman’s limousine driver for nearly running Neo over rushing to get out of their school’s parking lot at the end of the day. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Roman Torchwick was the antithesis of everything Atlas stood for, of course he made Weiss Schnee nervous, he was almost custom ordered to fly in the face of everything her father wanted her to believe a person should be. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She was also absolutely certain that Neo could never have asked for a better caretaker. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “How’s it going Snow Cone,” Roman grins at Weiss, earning a cross look that’s betrayed by the amused grin the SDC heiress found wouldn’t entirely leave whenever the insufferable man was around, luckily the man’s attention isn’t on her long as he kneels down in front of Neo, “Hey two-tone, nervous?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Neo nods and quickly gives the man a hug that seems split between being half-affection and half-terror, earning an easy chuckle from the man. Weiss feels a growing pool of something that tastes of envy rising in her stomach and she forces it down. Stomps it to death before it could take root. Neo had never revealed exactly how she came to be in Roman’s care, and Weiss never wanted to ask, finding it irrelevant because her curiosity was oft-waylaid by moments like this. He was a scoundrel, and likely a bunch of other things not discussed in polite society, but then again so was her father and almost all of his associates, the difference was in the color of their shirt collars… </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> … and the fact that Roman Torchwick had the good grace to </em> <b> <em>care</em> </b> <em> about what little family he had. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “So Neo,” Roman starts, gently setting his hands on the girl’s shoulders and pushing her back slightly to look her in her multi-colored eyes, “there might be a lot of people out there right now, and most of them are not here for the right reasons, but I’ll be out there and I’m worth roughly a hundred of those assholes, adjusted for inflation” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Two hundred,” Weiss added slyly, “market jump this morning” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b><em>"Two hundred,</em>"</b>
  <em> Roman corrects, sounding faux-surprised at the jump in stock, which cracks Neo’s expression, the corners of her mouth starting to turn upwards, “and you know I’m rooting for you, so you and Weiss better go out there and entertain me, dammit! Or don’t, bomb horribly out of spite, either way I’ll be taking you out for ice cream afterwards” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The smile breaks into a full-on grin at that last comment and Weiss just feels that it has less-than-nothing to do with the promised reward of ice cream. Roman takes the moment to come to a stand and ruffles Neo’s hair before giving the duo a second, comically exaggerated tip of the cap before walking away to find his seat in the crowd. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> After a pause Weiss side-eyes her friend. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “If you decide to bomb on purpose, I’m falling off the stage and breaking something on purpose,” The look of horror Neo gives her at that declaration breaks her calm facade immediately, “just kidding Neo! Jeez!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The sour look she gets from her friend is half-hearted at best. A moment later and the lady running the rented venue makes her way over, she’s mousy and high energy, a split between the natural nervousness Weiss knew was inherent in event planners, and the sheer weight both the money and reputation of the SDC put on her shoulders </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The moment Jacques Schnee had hired the venue and stage manager was the moment this woman no doubt felt the pressure to do everything in her power to get it off the ground and running. Now that she was so close, the only thing left would soon rest entirely on the shoulders of two nervous teenage girls. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The manager walks them out onto the stage, luckily with the curtain still drawn, keeping them separated from the audience. She hands Neo an amp cable, motioning to the ice-cream-themed girl to plug it in. Neo does so lightly, ready to pull the cable away in the event there was any feedback, and once satisfied that the amp itself wasn’t about to blair out in seeming protest, she settled it into the housing properly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The moussy woman then turns to Weiss and pulls out a wireless mic, slipping the ear piece in place after brushing back a strand of white hair, the woman then hands the battery pack to the SDC heiress and instructs her to clip it somewhere secure and to try and make sure it remained out of view of the audience. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We’ll do the introduction in five minutes,” Her skittish brown eyes alternate between Weiss and Neo, “after that, it’s on the two of you. Don’t worry about the speakers or the amps, the audio tech will handle that as the curtain raises. Are you two ready?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Schnee turned to regard her friend with a raised brow, and got a nod in return which she mirrors to the adult before them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Great!” She states, more to herself than to the two visibly shaken teenagers, before she turns to walk out of sight she manages to give the two a wane smile, “break a leg, okay?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> A moment later and the two are alone, listening to the muted din of several thousand people separated from them only by cloth and </em> <b> <em>maybe</em> </b> <em> fifteen feet of distance. As the nerves start to settle, Weiss lets the calm start to seep into her, born of confidence and experience. The sounds on the other side of the curtain start to matter less and less, and with that thought it fades into nothingness, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Calm and steady. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Enough so that she can’t help but hear Neo’s breathing. Admirably steady, but shaking notably, the lack of experience showing. Neo may have stood out because of her interesting appearance, but she hadn’t spent her youth being paraded about for the sake of a parent’s ego. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Hey Neo,” Weiss doesn’t turn to look into those familiar heterochromatic eyes, but the hitch in her breathing lets her know that her friend is listening, “the lights out there are bright, you’re not going to spot anyone’s face, just keep your focus under the spotlights and play, </em> <b> <em>we can do this”</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘We can do this’ Weiss repeats to herself. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> An eternity of a few moments pass and they can hear the stage manager speaking into the PA microphone, the audio quality good enough to catch the nervous vibration in the woman’s voice as any remaining din of audience chatter dies out completely. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “</em><b><em>Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining us here at the Miner’s Theater, taking the stage for us now, Weiss Schnee,” </em> </b> <em> There’s an awkward pause and Weiss’ teeth gnash together at the unintended sleight her friend suffers in the delay, the audience starting to applaud before the stage manager finishes with, “</em><b><em>Neo Politan!”</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The curtain opens and the applause feels as hollow and token as the enthusiasm behind it. Regardless, she feels the buzz and crackle of her earpiece come to life and sees the light of Neo’s amp come to life. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Neo starts, a somber note cutting the opening applause short as bow meets string. The first mournful tone is replaced by a second, drawn out like the first and Weiss starts to take slow, measured steps further out onto the stage, looking to command a bigger stage presence, she barely suppresses a smirk as she hears Neo’s footsteps as well, commanding the stage as well on equal footing just as Weiss had suggested she do when they’d first started planning the act. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The notes start to run quicker and suddenly Neo has her violin positively singing as she comes up on Weiss’ right side, right where the SDC heiress’ father would have been sitting and glowering that some unknown, low-born wretch dared stand on equal footing as his daughter. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Now he’ll just have to hear about it later’ Weiss thinks, before breathing in, right hand pressing into her abdomen as she leans her head back, chin held high right before a high note tears from her throat. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> … </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss hears nothing for a moment before she realizes she’s not looking out into a crowd of disinterested faces, instead she sees the ceiling, the stage lights, smoke and sparks. The view is confusing and upsetting, and only grows more as she realizes that the view in her left eye is running red. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Attempting to sit up turns out to be a mistake, as nausea hits and she ends up slumped over on her side, her groan is soundless to her ears, but the position does offer her a better view of what’s going on, if only from her right eye, as her left was starting to sting </em> <b> <em>so badly.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The crowd is running for the exit in a panic. Why? What happened? Did she trip and fall? The questions die down as she observes with a passive sense of horror that grown adults are knocking one another out of the way, shoving each other to the ground savagely in their bid to get out of the way of some unknown disaster or another. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss again tries to sit back up, to make some sense of whatever was going on. She views her hands pressed against the well-maintained wood of the venue’s stage and realizes there’s a puddle of red starting to form beneath her head. She feels that’s important, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it as she pushes up to her feet. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There are several prone bodies lying around a familiar section of seats in the front row. She can’t tell why they’re familiar at that moment… did she know who was sitting there? If she did, they were at the best in terrible shape. She tries to take a step and feels her strength fail her, falling to her knees with a thud that doesn’t feel nearly as painful as she figures it should. Which was fortunate. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> She wants to piece together her surroundings but the smell of smoke draws her attention one way, then the pitched single tone of her auditory functions returning to her slowly proves another distraction… and dammit, why does her left eye </em> <b> <em>sting?</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss swipes at her eye with her sleeve, glad that nobody’s around at the moment to condemn her for her improper manners before pulling her arm away and observing her sleeve with growing interest. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was covered in red too. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘I’m bleeding’ The SDC heiress notes blandly before dread and realisation start to set in. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She turns right and spots a small, fragile frame curls into a ball on its side. Telltale pink hair barely visible past all the soot, fragmented wood and- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Nonononono,” Weiss hears leaving her mouth, her legs not having the strength to stand, she starts crawling over to the downed form of her friend, “Neo get up, Neo get up please… p-please be okay” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It feels like Weiss isn’t in her own skin as she reaches the younger girl’s side, hands frantically brushing away the loose shrapnel that dusts her frail form. It’s almost like she’s watching a movie starring herself, like Weiss is outside her body and the actions of her body are scripted and beyond her control. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Weiss watches herself beg, language garbled, watches herself pull her hands back with fresh blood that isn’t her own. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The out of body experience ends when a harsh shove sends her world spiralling and she lands flat backed on the stage, pain shooting through an already stunned state as the back of her head crack on the hardwood. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Her eyes take a moment to refocus, and when they do all of her emotions, dulled and matted by confusion and a likely concussion come roaring back to the forefront. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Real fear to match the </em> <b> <em>real gun</em> </b> <em> pointing at her face, the realization that she was about to die at fourteen hits and she slams her eyes shut against the cruelty of it. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The sound of her scroll’s alarm going off tears Weiss from her recollection and back into the present. Back to Team XL’s gym, back to where her friends were okay and the closest she came to death’s cold embrace lay in the same tub she was currently sitting in. Her breathing is strained and heavy, like she hadn’t just spent the past twenty minutes near submerged in ice, but she knows that it has nothing to do with that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It never did. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her arms had slid from the edges of the tub and she’d spent at least a good portion of the time sunk down until her chin was barely above the still, frozen crest of water, which would do wonders for her aching shoulder blades and neck, but unfortunately also meant that her fingers were numb, and throbbed with a knowing ache not unlike those rare times as a kid she’d played in the snow without gloves.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss takes a second to recompose herself, trying to steady both her breath and her mind in spite of the chattering of her teeth and the blanketing, all-consuming <em> cold </em> that continued to lance through her body.</p><p> </p><p>If the former heiress had to choose one brand of bitter over the other, being in this tub was much preferable than being stuck in her past. Not that she ever chose, not when the option of both was there, as was the opportunity to toughen herself to it. Maybe it was some sort of flagellation, a punishment she evolved for herself in guilt, or as she hoped, maybe she was trying to immunize herself to it, to build a callous that just allowed the memory to one day crash off of her.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe one day, Weiss Schnee wouldn’t feel like a <em> victim </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The sides of the steel tub were normally cold to the touch, but she was currently colder so she simply grasps the rim of it with shaking hands and pulls herself out of the water. The shivering extends to the rest of her body as the open air hits her. She grabs a towel from the gym’s supply and - after a quick sniff to ensure that it had been laundered properly - proceeds to dry herself as quickly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>Desperate for her temperature to rise, but not willing to run the risk of a cold injury or tearing a muscle or ligament so early into training, she abandons modesty to peel her bathing suit off, letting the icy garment to drop to a puddle around her feet before wrapping the towel around her torso.  Stepping into her flip-flops, the white-haired woman walks stiffly through to the locker room, kicking her discarded bathing suit the whole way as her muscles and tendons seem to protest the former heiress trying to move with her usual grace.</p><p> </p><p>She suffers four consecutive failed attempts to spin her lock to the right combination before finally sticking it on the fifth and by that point she’s shivering badly enough that she’s confident she’s close to ripping the door off her locker when she finally does open it, each article she drags out gets put on immediately. Bra, underwear, white t-shirt, grey hoodie, powder blue tights accented with white leg warmers and socks all get pulled over goose pimpled-skin with haste and yet feel like they take an eternity to do so.</p><p> </p><p>Not exactly the high class outfit she’d been accustomed to in Atlas, but it was <em> warm </em> and it was <em> there. </em> She jams her feet into her worn sneakers to complete the ensemble and then sits on the nearby bench, leg bouncing and breath steadying as she waits for the beginning of blessed heat to start to spread through her limbs.</p><p> </p><p>It starts in her chest, tendrils of the feeling worming it’s way out to limbs that felt like they belonged on someone else, through skin too taut to feel natural and joints that felt like rust and disuse had rendered them nigh-useless. Weiss starts making small repetitive movements, nothing major, nothing dynamic, just opening and closing her hands, alternating between wiggling her fingers and curling them into a loose fist, the balls of her feet rest on the floor as she allows her legs to bounce, much like Ruby’s did subconsciously when she was bored… or nervous… <em> or awake. </em></p><p> </p><p>Anything to help generate energy, to assist in the spread of warmth throughout her body.</p><p> </p><p>Minutes tick by as feeling returns to her extremities and her range of motion becomes smoother, more fluid. A few more minutes of waiting and Weiss stands back up, slowly moving her limbs into slow, light stretches, keenly paying attention to her own body, feeling for what went sight unseen, the protests of tight muscle and sinew, any telltale pains of burgeoning trouble areas.</p><p> </p><p>Five more minutes and she feels normal again.</p><p> </p><p>She fishes her gym bag from the locker before slamming it shut, scoops up both her bathing suit and the towel she’d taken from the ice baths and deposits them in the communal hamper before wandering back through to the ice bath to drain the tub and retrieve the scroll she’d left behind in order to get warm as fast as possible, the alarm she’d set still beeping away incessantly until she turns it off.</p><p> </p><p>Happy that she’s done her due diligence and left things as clean as possible in her wake, Weiss steps out of the lockerroom and out into the hallway, following it out into the front lobby where she spots Ruby sitting on the reception desk, seemingly lost in thought and childishly kicking her feet absentmindedly.</p><p> </p><p>‘If her toes reached the floor she’d be bouncing her legs again’ The former heiress notes with an internal smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Waiting for your dad to finish his paperwork?” Weiss inquires, slightly startling the dark-haired woman from her thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby scratches the back of her head, the neutral, lost expression she had a moment ago melting into a grin as she watches the ivory-haired woman walk up beside her and casually lean against the desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually I was wondering if you maybe, kinda, sorta… wanted to hang out tonight?” Ruby inquires, her index fingers coming up to tap together nervously, “I mean, if you don’t want to that’s fine, we can do the hair dye thing another night”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm,” Weiss trails off, feigning an expression of deep, critical thought. She was teasing of course, but she understood Ruby’s nervousness around her was borne of her distrusting and prickly nature when she’d first come to train at Team XL. The younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter had all but swarmed her with the possibility of friendship the moment the former heiress had walked through the door. The memory of those first few months of keeping a barrier of indifference and annoyance up around the bubbly Rose still split Weiss’ remembrance between fondness and guilt, <em> even if </em> Ruby herself had never held those memories against her, “... well, I <em> suppose </em> I can afford you some of my time”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby doesn’t all but cheer, she just <em> does it </em> , her right hand shooting into the air with a victory pose while exclaiming positively in a loud <b> <em>‘WHOOP!’</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>Weiss gestures towards the door with her chin and her teammate takes the cue, hopping off the desk and exiting the building, although not before calling out one final goodbye to Taiyang in his office that the former heiress echoes at a far less ear-piercing volume.</p><p> </p><p>As they make their way over towards Weiss’ silver-colored SUV, the ivory-haired woman gives Ruby a sidelong glance, noting the slight cracks in a normally unobstructed smile marring the woman’s face. It was a slight tell, barely perceptible to those that didn’t closely know the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister. It was a trait that helped define the differences between Ruby and Yang; Yang wore her heart on her sleeve, and if there were turmoil within it would come across her face clear as day to anybody, with Ruby, it didn’t matter how troubled she felt, she wore the concept of absolute contentment on her face like a mask.</p><p> </p><p>It was just like Ruby, to act selfless even if it was her that wasn’t feeling okay.</p><p> </p><p>Personally, Weiss found it infuriating, but that was coming from a place of fondness and friendship, the urge to help those close to her wielded like a sharp blade in her subconscious mind in spite of Jacques Schnee’s attempts to dull it.</p><p> </p><p>“Something’s bugging you,” It’s not a question as Weiss reaches into her gym bag to grab her keys and unlocks the doors to her vehicle with the press of a button, “spill it”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice is deadpan as she climbs into the vehicle, watching idly from the corner of her perception as Ruby quickly runs the gambit of surprise to grimace.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I that obvious?” The dark-haired fighter groans, getting into the vehicle beside her friend and quickly doing up her seatbelt.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Weiss states simply, slipping the key into the ignition but not firing the vehicle up, instead turning so her blue eyes lock onto her friend’s familiar silver, “now start spilling”</p><p> </p><p>“I offended Ilia,” Ruby starts and Weiss immediately cuts her short by laughing, “... <em> WHAT!? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>It takes a few seconds for the former heiress to get her laughter under control, even as she sees the outraged look cross her friend’s face. A few seconds go by as the chuckles fade to giggles and Weiss raises a hand to cough into it, as though clearing her throat will clear the amusement dancing in her.</p><p> </p><p>“O-oh nothing, just… Ilia offended by a human, did you do something horrible like <em> exist in her presence? </em>” Weiss’ voice raises to a squeak as she does an increasingly poor job of trying to contain a giggle as the last few words slip out.</p><p> </p><p>She’s surprised when Ruby runs a stressed hand across her face and then through her dark locks, the humor fading from her as she realizes that her normally jovial friend isn’t joining in on the joke, or even betraying a grin at the fact that the normally stoic white-haired woman was caught in a giggle fit.</p><p> </p><p>“No…” Ruby sighs, “I mean I actually think it’s the genuine article. You know how the cleaners dad hired after Tukson left back to Menagerie are garbage right?”</p><p> </p><p>Weiss nods, mind quickly piecing together what Ruby might have said or done to Ilia.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I suggested that maybe Dad should hire Ilia as the new janitor since she’s already here, and it pays better than the gas station she works at and… <em> well… </em>” The silver-eyed woman trails off, an air of hopelessness in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>So that’s it.</p><p> </p><p>Weiss would cheerfully tell Ruby that she needed to temper her urge to solve people’s problems with a little bit of perspective another time, but for now, she needed assuaging from her anxieties.</p><p> </p><p>“Ruby, I get you’re trying to be helpful, and Brothers above know you’re the closest Ilia has come to tolerating a human’s existence, but you can’t just give Ilia a solution to a problem she doesn’t have, she pays her camp fees and her bills on time, she makes her own way, and it’s plainly obvious she takes some pride in that fact,” Weiss explains, fingers idly toying with the snowglobe key chain dangling from the key hanging out of her ignition, “<em>l</em><em>uckily </em> what you said isn’t genuinely offensive… just… <em> insensitive </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“She told me she’s ‘<em>Not my fucking housepet </em>’” Ruby mumbles, eyes cast down shamefacedly so she fortunately doesn’t see Weiss wince.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay then…” The former heiress trails off, reaching out a consoling hand to pat Ruby’s shoulder before turning the key and starting the engine, “so yeah, you <em> genuinely </em> offended her”</p><p> </p><p>Ruby seems to shrink further at her friend’s affirmation of her fear and Weiss chews her lip, wondering how she’s going to break the younger woman’s low state in the quickest way possible.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily for Weiss, her friend was a simple soul.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so first thing you do next time you see her, you apologize, no matter what, you apologize to Ilia, okay?” Weiss shifts the SUV into drive but keeps her foot on the brake, refusing to move forward until she sees Ruby’s head bob in acknowledgement, “More pressing though, what would you say for pizza for dinner, I’m starving”</p><p> </p><p>Silver eyes draw wide and Weiss has to turn her head to look to the left as she pulls out of the parking lot, fortunately keeping her growing smile from being seen.</p><p> </p><p>‘Got her’ The former heiress’ internal monologue calls out in a sing-song voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m trying to pack it on for the fight so I’m allowed to cheat,” she reasons to Ruby’s unasked question as the start making their way down the street, “aaaand, I won’t rat you out to Qrow, it <em> is </em> a girl’s night after all!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ohmigawd can we get meat <em>everything</em> pizza?” Ruby asks, doe eyes wide enough to rival a cartoon characters when Weiss nods.</p><p> </p><p>“That’ll be yours, I’m thinking veggie for myself” Weiss cringes at the victory cry her friend unleashes in the close confines of the SUV, but keeps smiling regardless at her successful play to get the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister to cheer up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>An Oscar-free chapter, don't worry, ya boi will be back soon.</p><p>This chapter hopefully sets the stage nicely for things to come. Also, Ilia is thus far my favorite character to write, while Roman is likely my favorite villain in the whole RWBY series, just because he was so refreshingly honest, you knew the moment you saw him that he was a villain that valued money and survival and that was it.</p><p>For the stalwart fans of the competitive fighting scene, using "Vale Tudo" for a fight company in the realm of the RWBY universe is the best thing that ever fell into my lap while writing.</p><p>As always, comments and constructive criticism bring me joy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Stick and Move</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ruby and Weiss spend some quality time, where the silver-eyed fighter reminisces over the changes the former heiress has gone through, and how she might be able to help her friend continue to grow.</p><p>Ilia finishes her weekend of doubles, tired mind and emotional stagnancy feeding into her regret.</p><p>Lastly, Oscar finds his challenges no longer extend to just finding a job, but keeping one too.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The smell of pizza wafting through Weiss’ apartment did a lot to settle Ruby’s stomach as it it went into fierce combat against the cloying scent of hair bleach, bringing a growl to her stomach - which until a few seconds prior to her friend and host opening the door to receive their takeout order from the delivery, seemed keenly against the idea of food - and the sting in her sinuses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the promise of sinfully greasy food that everyone back at the Team XL camp could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> know about, lest she and the former heiress be forced to run laps until their legs failed, she still lets out a huff of annoyance as her finger idly toys with the tips of her now pale blonde fringe, freshly prepped for the red coloring that was the next and final stage of her aesthetic routine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was how she preferred to look, how she had wanted to enter the cage against Emerald. Her hair normally carried blood red tips, highlights of personality that were yet another facet of matriarchal tribute to her mother - mirroring Summer’s infamous red gear - while at the same time still managing to be something that was undeniably </span>
  <em>
    <span>her’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately her training schedule and lack of foresight had simply not allowed for that. Moments not spent in the gym were spent watching tapes, traveling to fan signings and demonstrations, smiling for the cameras as they snapped images for commercials and magazines in glorious high definition. Interviews passed by as little more than blurs while she fielded familiar questions and did her level best to promote, while maintaining a facade of confidence under the international eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been days before the fight when she remembered exactly what didn’t feel right, as her eyes scanned with little interest on her scroll, fanning through pages and pages of pundits and sports writers discussing the fight that lay on the horizon when a comment caught her eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>-- Ruby Rose is rocking a new look, her natural black grown out. Think she’s trying to show a new, mature side as she progresses as a fighter? --</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been a revelation, one that had induced a mini-panic attack in the young fighter, and a bruise that still stung just like the loss she had suffered that night. Her wordless tribute to her mother just simply wasn’t feasible at that point. The final days before a televised fight being nothing but brutal weight cutting and press appearances. Every day involving forcing eight liters of water down her throat, cutting carbs and sodium… and all the sweating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memories of her muscles cramping as the severe dehydration set in paled in comparison to how her heart had clenched then, her sister, uncle and father there to comfort her, but having to remind her grimly that there simply wasn’t time to address something as vain and unimportant in the grand scheme of her career as going to a hairdresser.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d known they were right, that to lose focus or shirk off even </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> the RFL’s exhaustive series of press conferences would be absolutely devastating to not only her career, but also her sister’s and every fighter and trainer under the Team XL banner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, despising the feeling of long hair and the many braids and twists her teammates were forced to wrangle their locks into for a professional fight, Ruby had gotten Weiss - who still weirded the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister out with her hidden talent for hair care - to cut her hair far shorter, dangling just shy of her jaw line.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Footsteps sound through the apartment as Weiss is no doubt in the kitchen retrieving plates for their individual pizza slices, a smile crossing her face as she can hear her friend cursing her short stature, no doubt struggling to reach the dinnerware.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that it’s not also followed by the sound of cutlery being obtained from a drawer gives the dark-haired girl a small swell of pride, having snapped the once far-too-uptight Atlesian of her downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>unnatural</span>
  </em>
  <span> propensity for eating finger foods with a knife and fork. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang had helped, of course.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want something to drink?” Ruby hears the ivory-haired woman call, impressing upon the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister exactly how much change her friend had gone through. The Weiss Schnee that had entered Team XL’s gym all those years ago wouldn’t have even thought to let anyone into her home, now she was a gracious - if sometimes uptight - host, often considering a guest’s possible needs without prompt or complaint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... soda?” Ruby calls hopefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Water, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dolt!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Weiss chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t fault me for trying!” The dark-haired woman calls, a faux-whine trailing at the end of her words before she breaks into a fit of giggles that gives away the fact she didn’t take not getting treated to carbonated sugar beverage personally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A moment later Weiss appears in the door, gently handing her friend a plate bearing three slices of meat lover’s pizza before digging a bottle of water from the pocket of her sweat pants with her now free hand and tossing it lightly for Ruby to catch. The ivory-haired woman then takes a seat on the closed lid of her own toilet and places her own plate on her lap, peppers, onions and olives glistening tantalizingly up at the former heiress from her own pizza slices.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The blonde set in pretty easily,” Weiss notes, eyes turning up to address Ruby’s hair critically, “most people with black hair would skin you alive if they saw how easy your hair takes to it”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby gives a soft smile at her friend’s casual assertion, taking a bite of pizza before deciding to respond around it, “Well, maybe it’s easier for me because I’ve had it done to my hair for so long?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Weiss states dryly, eyes crinkling slightly as she fights against ingrained manners to not chide her friend for talking with her mouth full, “it looks good as always, the red should set in just as easily, just make sure to use the shampoo and conditioner I recommended you, you don’t want her hair frying from the dye”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“MMMPH!” Ruby exclaims, mouth too full of pizza, but her tone indicating that she understood, but found her friend’s insistence somewhat annoying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weiss arches a brow, “I get that you’re used to your hair care products smelling like candy and whatnot, but it’s for your own darn good!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby cedes defeat at this, shoulders slumping as she tries poorly to level a glare at the blue-eyed woman that doesn’t make a dent in the slightest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad to see we have an understanding” Weiss declares, her tone haughty and gloating, but her smile filled with too many teeth to be condescending as she finally lifts a slice of pizza to her own lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Even with her hands she makes eating pizza so proper’ Ruby notes in amusement as her friend digs in with an aplomb that used to be entirely foreign to the white-haired woman, yet despite this there isn’t a droplet of sauce, string of melted cheese or errant vegetable that </span>
  <em>
    <span>dares</span>
  </em>
  <span> spill off the slice an marr the woman’s immaculate clothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Naturally, as Ruby finishes her first slice and lifts her second, a sauce coated piece of chorizo sausage makes a valiant bid for freedom, right down the front of her rose-print pyjama pants before bouncing off the top of her bared right foot and sticking the dismount on Weiss’ immaculately clean white tile floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Motherf-” Ruby manages to cut herself off, silver eyes worriedly looking up to make contact with her host’s icy blues, “... uh, sorry”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Weiss responds, her voice slightly straining against old habits as a blush tints her cheeks, “you’re lucky you’re cute somedays Ruby, else I’d fear what this world would do to you in your clumsiness”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby feels herself flinch internally, wondering how she must have looked while apologizing, a familiar echo of how the relationship between the two women </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been in the beginning, with Ruby’s easygoing nature and want to make friends leading her into inevitable, clumsily constructed disasters while Weiss, the woman who simply hadn’t seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know how </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make friends relied on the backbone of a prim and caustic upbringing to take every flaw and fault the younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter exposed as carte blanche to visit her with derision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noting the mirror flinch on Weiss’ face, the dark-haired woman realizes implicitly why it’s there, and while there still lay some awkwardness after everything that had happened between the two friends, she feels that pang of sympathy ache through her chest at the sight of the former heiress’ stricken expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Think of something stupid’ Ruby’s mind screams at her, and she barely manages to avoid responding to herself that her brain was supposed to be the one providing answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey Weiss” Ruby starts, drawing her friend’s blue eyes back to her silver after a moment, and widening slightly as Ruby </span>
  <em>
    <span>strategically </span>
  </em>
  <span>jams the entire slice into her mouth to buy herself more time to come up with an actual way to lift the other woman’s downcast mood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been over a year since the inciting incident. Weiss’ confession, her feelings, her abandonment of the corroding chains of Atlesian gender roles that had bound her from expressing such things before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over a year since Ruby had turned her down, gently holding her ivory-haired friend as she cried at the rejection, and consoling her with the knowledge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> they could never be, but that she still treasured her friendship, her camaraderie, and told her with absolute certainty that she would one day find the one she needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over a year… and yet sitting in a bathroom that stank of bleach, eating delivery pizza, they were back in that moment all over again, if only for a moment. Ruby wouldn’t feel guilt over spurning the advance, she simply wasn’t born to be what Weiss wanted her to be, but she would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault the former heiress for her episodes of grief, rare as they were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The heart wants what it wants, after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which brought Ruby back around to this very second, staring into those unfathomably blue eyes, wet with frustrated yet unshed tears and expression torn between the turmoil that raged in her heart, and the absolute fucking </span>
  <b>
    <em>bewilderment</em>
  </b>
  <span> of whatever it was the younger Xiao Long-Rose was doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>think, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>think</em>
  </b>
  <span>!’ The dark-haired woman’s mind screams as the large portion of food in her mouth thins out, swallowed bit by bit as her teeth masticate it on instinct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um…” Ruby starts, still chewing, “... so I’ve been thinking…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trailing off again, she thinks back to the past week, the fight, the loss, the meal at Glynda’s, her shirt, helping Weiss train, getting insulted by Ilia. What was she forgetting!?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘OH!’ Ruby’s memory chimes with an audible ding and she nearly laughs at the mental image of a cartoon light bulb clicking on overtop of her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Chibi-reaper image you drew? That’s the one I’m gonna turn in for my shirt design!” The younger Xiao Long-Rose sister states, her already to full cheeks puffing out even further as she smiles, both with the decision she’d been forgetting to make in general, as well as for coming up with a totally logical subject to distract Weiss from the issues that troubled her in that moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘The stomach ache sounds like tomorrow Ruby’s problem’ She thinks glumly as she swallows down the last of the pizza slice that had been occupying her mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, you want your first fight shirt to be a chibified version of you running around with a scythe?” Weiss manages to add an air of incredulity to her tone despite the traces of longing and emotion thickening her voice, “I just drew it because I was sick of drawing those… </span>
  <em>
    <span>just awful</span>
  </em>
  <span> tribal designs around more proportionate drawings of you”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dark-haired woman manages a grin before biting into her third slice of pizza, silver eyes observing as Weiss turns her face away a moment as she coughs into her closed fist, trying to dispel the last few errant strands of negativity lying in her tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dude Bro Couture</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t your thing? I’m shocked!” Ruby chides jokingly, “Really Weiss, that picture is far better than anything else we’ve managed to come up with and it’s the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing I could think of carrying my brand! You did an awesome job with it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you…” Weiss responds, blush decorating a face that glowed far too easily under genuine praise. The unfortunate side effect of being raised in a cold and aloof environment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t take a swing at Jacques Schnee if the opportunity ever presented itself, whatever he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> to one of the most genuine people the dark-haired woman had ever met was rooted too deep to ever truly be gone, no matter how hard the family of Team XL pulled at it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still having trouble with the nickname, I think Yang’s ashamed of me for that,” Ruby chuckles, quickly finishing off her third slice while Weiss’ eyes turn upwards, lost in thought, “I’d bet good Lien she’s compiling a nickname list as we speak”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That earns a half-hearted groan from the former heiress, “Ugh, the puns will be weapon grade. You’ll be the first fighter to win during the introductions when an opponent just throws in the towel in disgust”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would that be forfeit or would it count as a submission victory?” Ruby asks, strangely curious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ivory-haired woman considers her response for a moment, idly taking a bite of pizza and chewing slowly as she thinks, “I think the answer to that… is </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes to which one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, both at once. It’d be like a double flash knockout, only in this case your sister’s puns are so offensively bad, your opponent is the one that suffers both of them simultaneously” Weiss nods after a moment’s more consideration, before nodding to herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make any sense…” Ruby mutters, earning an offended squawk from her friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who here</span>
  </em>
  <span> attended a famous, top-dollar private school?” Weiss fires back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry my liege!” Ruby bows dramatically, and squeals as her friend bounces a greasy chunk of olive off of her nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before an impromptu battle of pizza and regret can begin though, Weiss is standing and pulling the now empty plate from the younger Xiao Long-Rose’s hand, hunching over she picks up the errant bit of sausage and olive that had ended up on her tiles before padding out of the washroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you good for pizza?” Weiss calls over her shoulder as she disappears from view, the sound of her footsteps indicating that she was taking the dishes through to her kitchen sink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I said I was still hungry…” Ruby starts jokingly, even though it wasn’t a lie and she felt like she could crush the rest of her own pizza and probably the remains of her white-haired friend’s, but she was already pushing the boundaries of her caloric intake, it wouldn’t do for her to get greedy, and both she and Weiss understood that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby hears the sound of the tap water running for a second, the sound of ceramic meeting metal as the former heiress rinsed the plates and then left them sitting in water to be washed later before padding back through to the washroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright Rubes, ready for red tips again?” Weiss asks, smirking at her friend’s emphatic nod as she cracks the box of hair dye open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby might not have been what Weiss wanted most, but the younger Xiao Long-Rose intended to at least be what the former heiress </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that was a friend.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia watched with dull eyes as the sun began to peak over the distant mountain range and endless expanse of green that began just across the highway from the gas station she was currently seated in. The glamor of the view having long ago lost its luster and now only left her with a detached sort of longing for sunrise on her adopted home of Kuo Kuana, how she wished to replace the coniferous density of Vale’s forests for the palm trees, cloudless skies and blue oceans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blinking, she gives her head a shake as she straightens behind the counter, becoming more keenly aware of the rapidly approaching end to her second set of double shifts this weekend. She grabs her mug of cheap coffee and downs it’s lukewarm contents, having been so lost in reminiscence that it had been left abandoned for the past several hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The usual six hour skeleton shifts at the small way station that was the last stop of modern civilization between the City of Vale and the Island of Patch was usually a dreadfully boring affair to the young chameleon faunus. The television and radio holding little joy or interest for her as the majority of Faunus-centric news programming tended to be wrapped up and done with by the time her shift started at nine, the usual glut of more human focused shows and human-produced music that she couldn’t find any depth to leaving her disinterested and bored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That just left her with whatever books Blake had seen fit to loan her, and the accompanying soundtrack of the buzzing fluorescent lights of the store and the chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves from outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To say it left Ilia struggling to maintain consciousness would be an understatement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the unfortunate trade off she’d had to accept just to stomach the work to begin with. There was far more to occupy her mind and time with during the day shift, the rudimentary stock of snacks and automotive maintenance items were always delivered then, there was more cleaning and shelf-stocking, there were enough customers to keep her from resting on her laurels…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>… </span>
  <em>
    <span>and there was the catch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake had long ago told Ilia that she had a finite reserve of emotional resources and patience for dealing with humans, and away from Menagerie and some of the smaller, poorer districts that resided around the world, humans were the dominant species.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even though Vale was leagues beyond Atlas and Mistral in that regard, there was no denying that was still invariably </span>
  <em>
    <span>true.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia was aware that many of her kind were envious of the traits she shared with her animal facsimile, and while there was the odd person that would tell her how cool it was to be able to change her coloring at will, what the majority meant that it must have been nice to be able to pass as a human in a human world. To not feel the stares or have the passing comments - sometimes innocent, sometimes not - levelled at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite that perceived good fortune, Ilia still saw those stares of judgement and distrust resting on the shoulders of her brethren, those comments were still sometimes snidely whispered to her as though she wasn’t disgusted by the humans uttering them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vale wasn’t a place of </span>
  <em>
    <span>overt</span>
  </em>
  <span> intolerance, many people basking in their popular perception of being a more relaxed, open people. Prone to friendliness and charity. A lot of the time she saw the stares and heard the comments and could feel in her gut that while the person talking or staring wasn’t doing so out of malice, but the words and judgements still felt like ignorance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The few times she’d brought it up to said humans, the results had been combative, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dismissive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as if calling out their systemic issues and faux pas was somehow more insulting than having them levied at her and her kind to begin with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A finite resource, Ilia’s tolerance for human ignorance, and she rarely topped it back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She groans then, realizing that before she could get back to the apartment she shared with her cat-faunus friend, she still had a full day of training. That meant going back into Team XL’s gym. That meant another round of staring into Ruby’s bloody doe eyes and deflecting her attempts to present herself as a sympathetic, friendly influence in Amitola’s life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia didn’t trust it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which made it all the more frustrating when she had to admit there was at least the slightest sliver of fondness in her subconscious for the youngest Xiao Long-Rose sister. Which was far more than she held for either of her other two human teammates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weiss was an easy person to hate in Ilia’s mind. She was a </span>
  <b>
    <em>Schnee</em>
  </b>
  <span>, a member of the Atlesian elite, the uncrowned, snow-haired royal family of one of the most powerful nations on the planet. Growing up in the lap of luxury and at Team XL for purely selfish reasons. Ilia wanted to be a mixed martial artist on an international stage, she simply couldn’t abide some smarmy rich </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> taking an extended dip in the world of professional fighting just because she wanted to air her daddy issues publicly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia would even begrudgingly admit that Weiss was talented and worked hard when she was at the gym, but she had no perspective of facing the struggle that every other member of her team had. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Former heiress </span>
  </em>
  <span>though the media might call her, Weiss Schnee had enough money in her personal coffers to start twenty mixed martial arts gyms and still have enough to purchase a fully-staffed mansion in Mantle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang Xiao Long was a different, more personal matter in Ilia’s proverbial crosshairs. The blonde pugilist was just too much for Ilia to handle. Her enthusiasm, her jokes, her overly-familiar way of talking to anybody she came across, as though they’d all been close friends for years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whereas Ruby tried to work to forge a friendship where Ilia wasn’t interested, Yang Xiao Long insisted that they were already at that stage. It extended to every facet of their interactions and the chameleon faunus did almost everything she could to shut them down, not that it kept the lilac-eyed blonde dissuaded for long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Affectionate pats on the shoulder and back were shoved away, attempts at handshakes and high fives were shirked, any and all cheesy jokes she made were met with silent glares, and all invites to head out and hang out with the rest of Team XL in their free hours were shot down in short order.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that it never seemed to dim the vivacious blonde’s shine annoyed Ilia to no end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that Blake had easily come around to accepting such showing of friendly affection when she thought her fellow Faunus teammate wasn’t paying attention had Ilia feeling something else entirely. The bite of an acid at the back of her throat and the weight of denial stuck heavy in her chest when she noticed said moments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not jealousy, it’s concern’ Ilia reassures herself, but it rings hollow in her own head as she notices her freckles start to change into a light green color. She gives her head a shake, feeling her trait fall back under her control and returning to its’ supposedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>more natural</span>
  </em>
  <span> color.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It caused Ilia no small amount of distress at how quickly Yang’s open, easy nature and shameless flirting had eroded the walls that her best friend had put up, starting with furtive half smirks and eye rolls to the point where her cat-faunus teammate seemed to eagerly await such interactions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially considering that seemingly bulletproof bulwark that had been Blake and Ilia’s emotions upon first moving to Vale to train under a fresh new banner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To say that they’d arrived with a chip on their shoulders would be an understatement. The chameleon Faunus could clearly recall their long talks into the night, supportive comments and surefire plans as they each decided to make the next step of their professional fighting careers while having each other’s backs the whole way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would fight for Team XL, they would allow themselves to train and be coached by humans, grudgingly admitting to the effective methods and gameplanning that Taiyang Xiao Long and Qrow Branwen were known in the MMA community for, but they wouldn’t - </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> trust anybody but each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They just needed to be a part of Team XL, because </span>
  <b>
    <em>he</em>
  </b>
  <span> had made it clear there was no room left for them in Menagerie if they dared leave the White Fang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As far as Ilia was concerned, Yang Xiao Long was a threat to their solidarity, but any time she’d tried to bring it up to Blake, the fear was simply shot down or ignored, and to the chameleon Faunus the idea of watching her best friend get emotionally invested in such a peer was worryingly familiar and terrifying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The slamming of a car door from outside the station kiosk snaps her from her daze and all of her apprehensions and angers filter away once she realizes it’s the dark-haired form of Blake Belladonna.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Better yet, it’s Blake Belladonna bearing a fresh cappuccino and a muffin from the Faunus-owned bakery just down the street from their apartment, just for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least, Ilia really hoped so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me that coffee and muffin is for me,” Ilia loudly comments, forgoing any sense of subtle pleading as the bell at the door chimes and her friend hurries in, the ghost of a smile on her face, “seriously, I will put out for you right here and now if those are mine Blake”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No fornication needed!” Blake tilts her head at Ilia’s crass declaration, setting the cup and pastry down on the counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t fault me for trying’ sighs a suspiciously forlorn voice in Ilia’s head, but rather than voice that yearning want, she instead pulls the tab on the coffee and takes a long exaggerated sip, a satisfied </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Ahhh”</span>
  </em>
  <span> escaping her lips as the warmth runs it’s way down her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exciting night?” The cat Faunus’ eyebrow quirks in amusement at her friend's display of caffeine-infused joy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it were any more bumping here at the last stop before middle-of-fucking-nowhere, I’d have had to switch from vodka to ninety-one octane in my drinks” Ilia states dryly, relishing in the dry chuckle from her friend, who didn’t need to know that almost three hours of the chameleon Faunus’ shift had been spent thinking of that very response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nor did Ilia ever intend to admit she had a notebook in her backpack that was nothing more than workshopped one-liners she’d taken to developing during quiet shifts in general with the sole intent of getting to hear Belladonna’s elusive laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Success, get fucked Yang!</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Amitola internally cheers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So your coworker will be back by next weekend, right? Twin doubles and then heading to the gym today is going to do you no favors” Blake states simply, her right ear twitching lightly on top of her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah he’ll be back Thursday, just needed someone to cover him this time, family emergency or something,” Ilia shrugs, doing her best to police the distaste in her voice as she recalls the last minute change in schedule. While she held no particular like for the human that she tended to split the dead hours with at the gas station, she could admit the young man was earnest and wouldn’t simply claim such an emergency to go out partying over the weekend, “ugh, think Taiyang will just let me curl into a ball on the sparring mats and steal a couple of hours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Going to be a hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> on that one,” Blake states flatly, not that her friend truly held out much hope anyways, “besides, I think it’s yours and Ruby’s turn to run conditioning drills on Weiss. Isn’t making Schnee wish she was dead your fetish?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia lets out a groan as her head thunks atop the counter, drawing a surprised look from her stoic friend who still takes a moment to pat the back of Ilia’s currently-auburn head comfortingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Normally yes, but that means I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have to</span>
  </em>
  <span> work with Ruby too” Ilia lets out, voice tinged with despair and something that tasted suspiciously like guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So? You like Ruby” Blake states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which earns a near-offended glare from her friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that human, Blake” Ilia almost growls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like, tolerate, don’t want dead… same ballpark for you, Illy” Blake comments bluntly, not impressed in the least by the chameleon faunus’ darkening glare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, ignoring how wrong you are,” Ilia starts, her gaze locked on Blake’s striking yellow irises as though daring her friend to interrupt her, “Ruby is going to be even more insufferable today. There’s going to be the usual, then there’s going to be the addition of whining and her blasted puppy-dog eyes. It’s going to be a whole production and I don’t think there’s a coffee in this world good enough to help me tolerate it today, Blake”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat faunus scrutinizes her friend’s face for a long time, the stare intense and judgement flagrant enough to cause her freckles to start to turn pink, much to Ilia’s horror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm, you look guilty,” The statement passes Blake’s lips in stiff certainty, “What did you do to Ruby?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“NOTHING!” Ilia protests, the increased volume and defensiveness in her posture causing the cat faunus to flinch on two fronts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You remember my ears are good enough to hear your heartbeat, right?” Blake chides, her cat ears flicking back in annoyance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ilia almost spits in frustration, annoyed at the fact that there definitely was a stab of guilt in her where it revolved around the youngest Xiao Long-Rose sister, “right before calling you on Friday, she tried to convince her dad to hire me as the new janitor at Team XL…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia trails off as she observes Blake’s expression shift from the initial humor of acknowledging the terrible job the cleaners Taiyang had hired did, to the settling offense that her chameleon faunus friend must have felt, having humans - her peer and coach respectively, no less - give Ilia what was perceived as a hand out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… so Ruby and Tai-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just Ruby,” Ilia interjects quickly, “Tai might be human, but he’s smart enough to know not to ever offer something like that to one of us”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake nods in understanding, then takes a few moments to think while Ilia watches her, as though trying to unravel the thoughts in her friend’s head by the pools of her eyes alone. Blake Belladonna wasn’t one for long, involved conversations unless she was well and truly taken in by a subject, but her mind was never quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” The cat faunus says, head nodding as though deciding on something, “so I think you know that Ruby is genuinely too sweet of a person to have meant to offend you, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sigh tears its way from Ilia’s throat as she nods in acquiescence, “... yeah…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’ll probably just act like nothing happened, so what’s the w-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told her that I wasn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>housepet</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blake” Ilia interjects, her jaw set by clenched teeth as she notices those yellow eyes widen at the admission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Oh</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ilia trails off, the spike of guilt striking far harder this time, “she, uh, she looked pretty upset after that one”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sigh escapes Blake as she runs both her hands across her face, then keeps trailing them up strand of midnight-hued hair interlacing with her fingers as her arms stretch above her head before dropping to her sides, hair coming down to settle in light tangles over her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A nervous tick Blake only did in front of people she trusted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were many slurs that humans used to demonize the faunus, some were regional, terms coined in native languages or kept as near-cultural things within small, isolated communities. So much so that in the rare event a faunus ran into a human from one of these places, they simply wouldn’t realize they were being discriminated against.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Others were simply more… universal. Beasts, animals, monsters… the list was far more in depth than any one person cared to admit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Housepet</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a particularly heinous slur, since it was a call back to the times when faunus autonomy wasn’t frowned upon, but genuinely </span>
  <em>
    <span>illegal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as several areas across the continent of Remnant turned them into property.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to apologize to her immediately,” Blake states voice weighty and brooking no argument as yellow eyes narrow, daring her fellow faunus to disagree, “Ruby didn’t deserve that and we both know it, Ilia”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chameleon faunus’ arms drop at her friends condemnation, “Yeah, I know”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake nods before turning her head slightly, ear flicking as she picks up something Ilia isn’t quite able to with her far less sensitive ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your relief just pulled in, sounds like she’s hungover,” Yellow eyes shift back to her friend, “I’ll go wait in the car for you, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia nods, grateful and yet dreading the quiet reflection a car ride with a disappointed Blake Belladonna usually causes, as the door bell tolls her friend’s exit, she quickly snags the muffin off the counter top and peels back the wax paper. Determined to finish it before the day shift employee makes it in and complains about her leaving crumbs everywhere.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Something’s wrong,’ was the thought that kept sparking through Oscar’s mind as he sat at the lip of a warehouse, legs dangling off the elevated entrance bay as he picked at an egg-salad sandwich he had splurged on from the meal truck this lunch break. He was fortunate to be working near the back of the warehouse, the height of the building managing to provide some much needed shade against the high noon sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lot of the other temp workers were in the same boat as he was, greedily drinking water and picking at their meals while doing their best to not to move around or do any unwarranted action. Movement expended energy, and energy produced heat, and in the mid-summer of Vale, that was just simply unnecessary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar was better equipped to handle it than most. In fact, he probably could have simply kept working instead of indulging in the luxury of a thirty minute break, but he wasn’t about to turn down the fact the break was </span>
  <em>
    <span>paid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he’d learned his lesson at his previous job. Nobody likes an overly productive coworker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still for all the former farm hand knew, the temp agency would call him up late Friday and inform him that his time there was done, and that would be that. He wasn’t under contract, he just needed to keep his head down, do his work, and earn enough money to keep pushing through the weeks and months until he landed something more permanent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite that though, his eyes wandered, his attention drawn by things that seemed decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this warehouse. Little things that he’d initially assumed were simply normal in this area, considering no one - not even his fellow temp workers - looked twice at anything happening around them that didn’t directly involve the work they were doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yellow-green eyes narrowed once again as they trailed to follow the floor manager wandering across the back lot, over to a non descript hatchback, the windows tinted black. It would have looked suspicious to him at the best of times, but in a place where no personal motor vehicles were supposed to be allowed it became far more stark. Semi trucks hauling trailers, shunting between warehouses to store wares that weren’t direct order flew through the area by the minute, and far more often than Oscar would have figured they would collide or scrape against one another or the warehouse itself, but those things were insured, they were covered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If a shunt driver screwed up and crushed a civilian car, or Brothers forbid killed the occupants? The ensuing legal fallout would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>nuclear.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Safety protocols seemed to vary from person to person, oftentimes he would notice a man, dressed far too well for the work that took place within the warehouse’s walls, walking through the center of the floor, no hard hats, no steel toed footwear, just to reach the office and disappear inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes a group of people that simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>did not </span>
  </em>
  <span>work there would congregate around a section of recent deliveries that remained off of any official manifests. The floor manager and his representatives doing the rounds to tell the rest of the employees that they were under no circumstances to go near them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar was not a man known for indulging in fantasy, and had remained largely disconnected from fantastical entertainment, but off was </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. While almost every odd job or bit of labor he’d done since coming to the City of Vale involved some level of sketchy neglect - the startling lack of suitable safety helmets for horned faunus came to mind - this set something electric to settle in his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of his fellow temp workers, a lithe man with blue hair, caught his eye then, initially standing on the periphery of the suspicious stare he was levelling at the car until eventually Oscar realized the man was staring at him. Making contact with the man’s intense grey-blue, the man shakes his head slowly, barely perceptible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘He’s trying to warn me’ Oscar realizes, a leaden weight of dread settling into his stomach at all the possibilities that could mean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar breaks his stare then, eyes turning down to pretend that he found the remainder of his egg-salad sandwich far more interesting than anything he’d ever seen before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry dude” Oscar doesn’t address the apology, instead keeping his eyes down as his mind considers the possibilities of what it meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So deep was Oscar in thought that he didn’t notice as the floor manager and a blond monkey faunus climbed out of the hatchback, walking around the back of the vehicle as it’s back hatch opens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t see as several of his fellow temps fan out across the rear parking lot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His first clue that </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> was happening wasn’t the distant sound of police sirens, or the screams of several familiar </span>
  <em>
    <span>non-employees</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they ran out into the parking lot, hands reaching into jackets as they cast suspicious glances in every direction, it wasn’t even when that same blue-haired temp pulls out both a pistol and a badge and starts screaming for people everyone to get on the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the distracting text he’d received on his phone from the temp agency.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>-- Vale’s Temporary Hiring Solutions is not beholden to the sub contractor in cases of the third-party employer’s arrest or detainment --</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Essentially: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you and your last three days of back breaking labor, we aren’t paying you a thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the purest example of organized chaos Oscar Pine had ever seen in his young life broke out before his eyes as everything broke into action.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The floor manager is tackled to the ground with a startled curse as the monkey faunus tackles him to the pavement mere seconds before six men come storming out from the emergency exit, no doubt having caught wind that whatever shady activities they were conducting in the warehouse was currently blowing up in their faces. The scream at the monkey faunus, red-faced and reaching into their jackets, pulling loose firearms as they start to advance to the melee occurring behind the hatchback.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t make it far as the blue-haired temp and several others that Oscar had wordlessly been working alongside for the past several days are suddenly armed as well, and unlike the obvious criminal element, these people are </span>
  <em>
    <span>trained</span>
  </em>
  <span> to use their weapons, hands still and calm as the command the lot to get on the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar sits there, legs dangling off the edge of the truck bay as he stares disbelieving while everyone else breaks similarly to the cockroaches in his apartment when he flicks the lights on. Other temps and long time employees, honest workers simply not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of whatever was about to happen in the next few moments, a few of the undercover police officers openly assist them in making themselves scarce, pointing out a safe direction and screaming for them to get to safety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The criminals look stunned at having been so completely surrounded, and Oscar feels a lingering hope that this would all end without a shot being fired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So naturally, one of the goons levels his pistol at a nearby dog faunus and the former farm hand’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest as the blue-haired puts a bullet into the criminal’s leg without hesitation, sending the man screaming to the ground before he turns the barrel onto a different criminal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drop. Them. Now” Officer Blue-Hair commands. His poise and resolution is absolute and it shows in his stance. There simply isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that the man was fully willing to shoot every single one of the criminals there if they continued to be a threat to him or his peers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pistols hit the ground seconds later, the five standing criminals joining the sixth on the ground as the cops swarm in to complete the arrest and treat the bullet wound in the sixth criminals leg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole time Oscar sits there, still holding his sandwich, eyes wide in shock, and heart pounding. He isn’t sure how much time passes as the squad cars show up, the ambulances shortly behind them. As individual officers shake hands on a job well done, all while Oscar just sits there, a bystander, no... </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span>, an </span>
  <b>
    <em>audience</em>
  </b>
  <span> to the events just passing him by.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought’s sobering, snapping him vaguely back to reality he realizes the fresh wave of discomfort resting in his stomach has turned to hunger and he returns quietly to his sandwich.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude have you just stayed sitting there the whole time!?” Mouth full and an indeterminate amount of time later, yellow-green eyes trail up to settle on the blue-haired man, now accompanied by the blond monkey faunus. The two stare at him with a mixture of amusement and amazement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling like a bug under a microscope, Oscar still manages a nod before finishing off the last bite of his sandwich before wiping his hands on the thighs of his work pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, so as you might’ve figured out, this sting got set up using the temp agency…” The blue-haired officer starts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They messaged,” Oscar states dryly, amazed by the lack of emotion in his own voice, “I’m not getting paid”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two cops exchange a look, both looking somewhat shirked by the realization that someone innocent would be affected negatively by a police action to stop a smuggling ring. It was sadly a true fact that there was no such thing as a victimless crime. It just sucked to see it so blatantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” The blond monkey faunus tried for casual, “anything you need? We got blankets, water… oh! We can give you a lift home”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No need,” Oscar sighs out as he comes to a stand, not wanting to fault or guilt either man from doing their jobs, “oh, maybe one thing”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Both men ask in unison, which would normally startle the former farm hand, but he just didn’t feel like expending brain power to figuring out the oddities of the City of Vale’s residents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you could run me over with your squad car on the way out, I’d really appreciate it…”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was way too pleased to tie in the Neptune/Sun "JUNIOR DETECTIVES" running gag from RWBY chibi.</p><p>Sorry WhiteRose shippers. I don't blame you for being grumpy, it's just not how the story I'm writing is gonna go.</p><p>I still love writing Ilia, but I was happy to finally give Blake some actual dialogue, she was really overdue for it.</p><p>Okay so some extended notes here, I currently have the main beats and story points mapped out in concrete, everything in between them is largely me flying off the cuff with a general direction, but I'm trying to keep a consistent tone and I'm hoping that aside from the training and fighting scenes that there's enough plot and characterization for non-MMA fans to still enjoy what's being written, as the MMA is really just meant to facilitate that, even despite my enthusiasm for the sport.</p><p>It's why I'm trying to also define the characters of RWBY through their fighting styles, their preferences and techniques. </p><p>With that said, thank you for reading, I'll have more up soon, and I will never be upset by comments and constructive criticisms, it all helps to keep me motivated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Shadow Boxing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yang gets lost in a memory of her first taste of the Bandit Camp</p><p>Afterwards, the Not-Quite-The-Bees spend some time getting to know each other.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>There were many words people associated with a woman like Yang Xiao Long. People called her a living embodiment of fire, a dragon, burning and warm, friendly, deadly and everything in between. A walking, talking cavalcade of opposing traits that somehow fused together into her entire being, and yet it was all irrefutably who the blonde fighter was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Words that no one used when they brought up the brawler were the likes of apprehensive, nervous, terrified.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet in this moment, and every precursor moment that had led to her standing in the ‘Arrivals’ terminal of the Mantle International Airport, all of those words, those foreign and strange descriptors that a passerby would never dream to attach to the name and face of Yang Xiao Long were just as </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>true.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She tries to wear her confidence as a shield, but it stands out against her skin as a mask, fake and plastered and uncomfortable on her skin. She’d go for indifference, but her mind and body are equal parts thrumming with anxiety and exhaustion, the expectation of what she was doing - travelling to Atlas’ second biggest city to attend a guest fight camp - leaving her both too wired to obtain sleep, but hit hard enough by the sudden adrenal bottoming-out that keeping her eyes open was a struggle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lastly, Yang Xiao Long tries to calm her mental state by tempering her expectations and finds that it does nothing, because she has no clue </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>what to expect</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. There was only so much positive reinforcement and encouragement she could suffer from Ruby and Weiss before it inevitably rang numb in her ears. There was only so much gruff, bolstered confidence her Uncle Qrow could lay on her sheer ability before it felt </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>insincere</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was only so much advice and wistful reminiscence her father could spout until Yang spotted the cracks and peeling paint coming off of his recollections.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Yang Xiao Long that climbed onto the Bullhead to make the trip to Mantle was not the same Yang Xiao Long that now stood in the terminal in the city proper. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where it concerned Raven Branwen, excitement and expectation could only carry Yang Xiao Long so far through the eight hour flight before what landed alongside the blonde bombshell was tension and hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty three years of life was a startlingly wide age gap to close the distance between the last time Yang had been told she’d lain eyes on her mother and now, lilac eyes scanning the unfamiliar and cold people that crowded her scrutinizing gaze. All the anticipation she’d felt about finally starting to get to know the woman that had not stuck around to be a mother to her was clouded like the skies above the Atlesian city, muted and dulled to the point that it was almost non-existent.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>try</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had only been a lifetime to Yang when she’d finally received that fated scroll call only a few weeks prior, a dull, unfamiliar voice introducing itself and sparking something in her chest that she’d thought stamped out and forgotten years prior.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That urge for familial bond. To know the mother that simply </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>wasn’t</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. To reconnect, maybe for the better, maybe for the worst, and maybe, hopefully, she could answer the one, solitary question that had echoed through her head from the very moment she’d learned that Summer Rose was not her blood, lending a stinging ache of longing to every happy childhood reminiscence, from the first day of school, to the scent of warm chocolate chip cookies cooling in the kitchen every Sunday until her adopted mother’s passing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Why had Raven Branwen left?</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exhaustedly, Yang brings the hand free of her luggage’s handle to her face, the heels of her palms pressing into either eye tiredly, rubbing at the sleep and the threat of tears she figured herself too numb to feel. With a shaky, calming breath she lets her hands fall away only to almost jump with a start as she makes eye contact with a familiar woman standing a few feet before her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Raven didn’t come to get me herself?” Yang asks, her tone flat as her mask slides smoothly back into place at the sting of early disappointment.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The woman in front of her shakes her head, letting out a low sigh. The woman is known as Vernal, a fighter under Raven’s Bandit Camp banner. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>The</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> fighter under Raven’s Bandit Camp banner. Her proficiency in the cage and antagonistic attitude during press conferences serves to help the woman distance herself from the pack of the majority of fighters in both the Atlas and international MMA scene, seemingly in spite of her rather spartan personal appearance of short-cropped brown hair and pale blue eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those same pale blue eyes held something between annoyance and commiserative understanding at Yang’s question, “Raven got caught up with some business at the gym, so I’m on chaperone duty for the day” she states dryly, clearly not enthused by the fact that she was put in that position.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay,” Yang responds, voice sounding awkward and hollow despite the forced cheer she pumps into it as she smiles at her biological mother’s professional protege, “well leads the way then Vernal, I’m Yang Xi-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Xiao Long, yeah, I got it,” Vernal interrupts, ignoring the blonde brawler’s offered hand and turning to walk through the mass of other transit-goers, obviously expecting her charge to keep up, “Do you need anything before we get to the gym? Food, any necessities you forgot?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang is already in step with the smaller woman, pulling her luggage along behind her and picking her way politely through the crowd while Vernal instead opts to shoulder anyone that gets too close aside, earning several scathing glares and comments.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The food on Atlesian Air flights constitutes a war crime,” Yang jokes, then deflates when she notes that her temporary fighting camp peer doesn’t so much as smirk at the comment, “uh… so yeah, food, preferably a place with good coffee”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Vernal nods as she shoves the doors of the terminal wide, nearly smashing into the face of a young man too busy looking at his scroll to pay attention to his surroundings. Yang gives the man a sympathetic wince as he falls on his backside but the smaller brunette woman doesn’t even break her stride as she gestures over to the parking structure with her chin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This way” she states flatly before wandering across the parkway that divides the airport proper from the parking structure, causing a car to screech it’s brakes to stop short of hitting the Bandit Camp stalwart. Vernal ignores the honking of the incensed driver while Yang follows behind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, uh, you always like this?” Yang ventures, keeping a wary eye out for any other vehicles that may not be so considerate as to hit the brakes rather than her or her ride.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like what?” Vernal chances a tilting eyebrow over her shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Y’know…” The blonde brawler trails off as she tries to think of a polite way to state her thoughts, “... bitchy?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To Yang’s surprise, that comment is actually what causes the brunette to smirk, though it’s flickering and fleeting, mostly hidden by the fact that she actively looks away from the native Patch woman as though to hide it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve been told that I’ve got a terminal case of </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>‘being an asshole’</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, yes,” Vernal offers as they make their way into the car park, the already stark Atlesian weather developing a damp chill as the large cement structure seems to hold it in, “in my defense though, they’re Atlesians. Not exactly a genuine, wholesome bunch that don’t deserve the occasional reality check”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang follows the brunette into a stairwell and - after lifting her luggage off it’s wheels to hold properly in her left hand - the two women take the steps two at a time up to the fourth level of the car park.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, not a fan of Atlas…” Yang trails off, “guessing you’re one of the trainees that moved from Anima when Raven brought the gym over here?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gold star, blondie,” Vernal nods as she opens the stairwell door for Yang to walk through, “Shay and I are probably the last native Anima residents in Raven’s gym these days, most others got pushed out because of bills, weather, and the fact that dealing with these entitled Atlas fucks is only slightly more tolerable that suck-starting a shotgun”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang doesn’t respond to that, eyebrows raising at the bitter tone in the brunette’s voice. There’s a part of her that wants to dispute her new teammate’s condemnation of an entire nation’s population, or at least defend her friend Weiss, but she chokes that urge down, deciding that truly, it would do nothing but cause unneeded friction before she even got started with her stint at her mother’s camp.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Strictly a guest camp in Yang’s career as it was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang spots Vernal’s vehicle before the brunette can even gesture to it and breaks out laughing. A large all-terrain truck that stopped just shy of being an armored vehicle, the paint job is essentially a rolling advertisement for the gym, no doubt her mother taking cues from the capitalist nature of Atlesian culture and taking tax breaks along the way under the guise of advertisements being listed as a </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>business expense</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The fact that the bloody red script and graphic stands against the silver paint job as gaudy as it does turns what would normally be an impressive vehicle into an eyesore of a billboard is not lost on Vernal who huffs as she unlocks the doors and gestures for Yang to climb in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Company vehicle huh? What a perk” Yang snickers as the brunette hops behind the steering wheel.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck you,” Vernal growls, earning an even harder laugh from Yang as she turns the key over and starts the ignition, “I wanted to take my own Dust damn car but Raven said she doesn’t comp fuel for anything without her brand on it”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Or she was screwing with you” The blonde offers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you’re not overly familiar with Raven Branwen,” Vernal starts as the vehicle lurches forward, the sheer size of the truck making Yang nervous that they’re going to scrap against the ceiling at any given moment, “she’s not one to make jokes. I think she affords herself two every fiscal year, and never in the gym. So just watch for that”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang feels more than sees the sidelong glance the brunette casts at her, and she nods in response regardless, lilac eyes turning to focus on the world outside as they make their way out of the parking structure and out into the city of Mantle proper. The bustle of the city astounds her, the sheer pack of vehicles and people, the six-lane road ways and the cloud of pollutant smog hanging overcast in the sky making the city of Vale seem quaint and pedestrian in comparison.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The idea to partake in a guest training camp leading up to her next fight had been Raven’s idea, an offer extended to Yang and vetted by both her enthusiastic father and restrained Uncle Qrow before she ever had the chance to talk with her elusive, absentee mother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yang had known about Raven since she was a child, watching as her adopted mother Summer had slipped away suddenly and cruelly. Those silver eyes, as warm and familiar as her own sisters, had bored into her own as Ruby’s mother laid bare the truth about her parentage, while simultaneously shooting and assuring Yang that for all intents and purposes she was Summer’s daughter too, blood or no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was one of the last things Summer had ever told Yang. A name, a face, a hint as to the person she may have been just like, while at the same time a stranger that Yang truly knew nothing about.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Yang knew she was here to train, to sharpen her skills under one of the sport’s most beloved enigmas, raising both her own skills and the profile of Branwen’s oft-struggling gym, but more than any other reason, she was here to finally </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>connect</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> with Raven. To see if her hope, her want to cultivate a relationship despite the damage her mother’s abandonment had instilled in her, was possible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey Vernal,” Yang starts, noting the side glance from the driver, “what’s… Raven like?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music pumping through her headphones is interrupted by her alarm going off, informing her that her sprints had concluded at the fifteen minute mark and dragging her out of both the memory her mind had elected to recall, as well as the runner’s high that was preventing both the stitch in her ribs and the gasping of her lungs from dragging her out of the churning, pumping effort she was putting in on the treadmill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fingers reach for the speed and lower it down to what would barely be considered a jog, the pounding of her feet growing lighter until they were padding softly on the tread. Yang grabs the towel she’d left draped on the side handle of the machine and wipes at her face, eager to get the stinging sweat away from her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>General cardio and fight cardio may have been two separate beasts, but Yang enjoyed the classic fundamentals of fitness just as much as gaining newer theories during her training, and running was one such thing. The Team XL gym still often stood as a perfectly adequate fitness center for people not at all interested in fighting, and often did so, generalized memberships being far more affordable and also serving as a stalwart financial backbone of the institution during the weekdays.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the only thing that had kept Team XL afloat during the gym’s darker years, when the fighters enrolled under her father’s and uncle’s tutelage weren’t of a high enough ability to fight for larger renown or purses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang liked to use the treadmill specifically to increase her mental fortitude, the ability to set an unrelenting pace kept her from pulling back when she was winded on an instinctual level, forcing her to maintain the pace the machine dictated, even when it hurt, even when she felt like she had nothing left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde brawler had patched the dry-wall behind the treadmill in question enough times to know what the consequences were for not keeping up, but it did nothing to dissuade her from the habit. At her father’s insistence though, Yang had long ago kept herself from invading the cardio room unless there were no casual gym members present.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lowers the speed to a walk finally, once she’s felt her heart rate has lowered enough. Yanking the headphones off of her head she sets them over the handle beside her towel and starts doing some light upper body stretches as she walks, humming with satisfaction as her shoulders and then neck pop as she goes through the motions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few more minutes of walking and her heart rate is at a near-resting level, she quickly stops the machine and grabs the bottle of water she’d set beside the machine, taking a deep drink from it, she leans against the treadmill a moment, arms crossed and face buried, hidden a moment as she takes stock of herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory was nearly two years old now, and tinged with the disappointment of everything that followed after, right up to the moment she got back to Vale a few short months later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang had to admit, she was somewhat proud of the fact that she didn’t seem to be either enraged or crying at the recollection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘A far cry from how I used to feel when I thought about it’</span>
  </em>
  <span> She notes internally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where there would once be a breakdown, either a seething rage or an emotional low, there was instead merely a hollow pit. Something gnawing and chewing slowly at what used to be a fiery passion in the emotional turmoil that had quelled, cooled and died with time. Yang didn’t say this of course, but there was a part of her that missed being afforded either of those in regards to the short time she’d spent under her biological mother’s tutelage, like it was something she’d earned the right to feel it, and now it simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> there and on some deranged, masochistic level, she felt robbed of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her father had called it healing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang wasn’t so sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grabs her towel and headphones off the machine and quickly wipes the machine down with the afforded paper towels and diluted cleaning mixture, idly considering what she should work on next, since she had neither her own fight work up, nor was she necessary for Weiss’ training for the day, since it was her sister’s and Ilia’s day running the former Heiress through grappling and cardio.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang takes a moment to consider before the smile breaks across her face, if she wanted to socialize with anyone at the gym, that meant there was only one other free trainee, and with Ilia tied to Weiss for the day, it all but meant the droll cat faunus would be all to herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Provided she wanted to hang out with Yang today, the blonde bruiser wasn’t a creep or anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The eldest Xiao Long-Rose sister quickly fishes out her scroll, flipping through her contacts to find the woman in question’s name: </span>
  <b>
    <em>Blake Belladonna</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Yangtime</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> --so I’m bout dun 4 2day, my sis n Illy r working w/ icey, wan 2 hang out 4 meow?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Blake </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>--Right meow?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Yangtime</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> --yuppers! right meow!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Blake</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> --Alright, get changed and we’ll meet out at my car. You’re coming to the ‘Kennel’ with me, I feel like green tea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang feels her eyebrow quirk in surprise, the ‘</span>
  <b>
    <em>Kennel</em>
  </b>
  <span>’ was a faunus neighborhood. The nickname intended as a disparaging comment towards the species by more intolerant human beings, but the faunus themselves instead adopted it and used it as a slang term for the area, dismantling the pejorative connotations of it’s unofficial moniker by simply making it their own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A peaceful way of telling backwards minds to go fuck themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, the flipside of that coin was that the oft-put upon faunus population held little love for any human element that they might feel was invading </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> space, which wasn’t to say that there wasn’t the odd human that took up residence in the neighborhood, just that they had to show that they weren’t a negative presence there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having never been to the ‘Kennel’ before, the feeling of apprehension in Yang’s chest was now waging war against her fondness for the dark-haired cat faunus she was texting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck it, nothing ventured nothing gained’ Yang’s inner voice mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Yangtime </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>--sounds liek a plan! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So then, THEN, this poor bastard looks at me and Nep, no more job, not even getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>paid</span>
  </em>
  <span> for like a full week’s work or something, just finished his lunch while watching the largest smuggling bust in department history and he goes- *</span>
  <b>
    <em>snrk*</em>
  </b>
  <span>” The blond monkey faunus animatedly relaying the story to the few other patrons in the tea shop takes a moment to try and quell his own laughter amongst the rising giggles and amusement of his audience, “- he just states, and I quote </span>
  <b>
    <em>‘If you could hit me with your car on the way out, I-I’d appreciate it’!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the exuberant man manages to squeak out the final line, he finally breaks out laughing along with several other patrons, Yang - who’d been sitting awkwardly silent beside Blake until her monkey faunus friend had launched into his story from earlier in the week - now had her face buried in her arms, shaking uncontrollably while at the same time trying to bury her audible laughter so as not to offend any of the faunus she felt didn’t appreciate her presence in one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> establishments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Not that it matters’ Blake thinks cheerfully, her laughter is slightly more restrained but still honest, while several of the tea house’s other patrons are openly holding their stomachs and wiping away tears at the monkey faunus’ tragically comic anecdote.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake pats the blonde brawler’s shoulders with a mixture of affection and comfort, trying to draw her far more boisterous friend out of a shell she didn’t even suspect existed within Yang before the moment they’d arrived at the Kennel, but the woman had become withdrawn, almost meek. As though chained part and parcel to the actions of the less-scrupulous actions of select members of her race. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t the Yang Blake so enjoyed trading jabs and flirting with during the rare moments Ilia wasn’t glued to her hip. This was a nervous, apologetic, hesitant shell that walked on eggshells while bearing the weight of other people’s mistakes on her shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would almost be endearing if it weren’t painfully embarrassing to watch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang looks up after a few moments, trusting herself to keep any and all laughs below </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘guffaw’</span>
  </em>
  <span> level, she wipes and errant tear from her eye before flashing a toothy grin at the cat faunus that she wears far more naturally then the tepid, nervous ones that had been gracing her face for the past half hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you’re not going to offend anyone by laughing out loud,” Blake notes amusedly, a moment of satisfaction filling her at her blonde friend’s embarrassed blush, “I brought you after all, that makes you cool by proxy”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang huffs, lilac eyes holding amusement as she finds something interesting in her second cup of tea, “So you’re the cool one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was always the cool one, Yang” Blake states confidently, nudging the human with her shoulder as the monkey faunus - a man named Sun, that the raven-haired fighter had gotten to know through their shared patronage of the establishment they were currently in - sat down heavily on her right side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, another human, neat!” Sun remarks with a grin, causing Yang’s brain to seemingly short circuit between the options of smiling in greeting and hiding beneath the counter so as to not cause whatever problem she’s no doubt imagined </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen, “Shoulda let me know Blake, if we get one or two more coming around maybe I can convince Neptune to come out here again, he still whines that he felt like a bug under a microscope”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The first thing Neptune did was hit on Trifa,” Blake calmly reminds the monkey faunus, “no </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Hi, my name is Neptune’</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’m Sun’s friend, he can vouch for me’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just false confidence and libido, hence why she looked ready to kill him in no time flat, not because he’s human”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He hits on everybody though, faunus, human, the Smart-Fridge with the P.E.N.N.Y. AI system that he was thinking of buying…” Sun defends seriously, which earns a snorting laugh from Yang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but,</span>
  </em>
  <span> when a strange human comes into the Kennel and starts starts flagrantly trying to get into people’s pants, it comes off less sincere and a lot more like they have a faunus fetish,” Blake explains flatly, before giving her Team XL peer a cruel smirk, “speaking of faunus fetishists, this is my teammate Yang”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>WHAT!?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yang shrieks, causing some of the faunus present with more sensitive hearing to wince before all eyes are on the now furiously blushing and thoroughly humiliated blonde, “I-I’m not. I wh-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The momentary tension breaks as Sun and Blake burst out laughing at Yang’s indignant reaction, no doubt bolstered by the fact that the blonde brawler was generally the one to cause others embarrassment by teasing and flirting comments. Realizing she was set up, the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister pouts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Yang,” Sun smirks, holding out his hand to shake, “Sun Wukong, detective with the Vale Police Department, Blake’s told me a few things about you, and I’m a fan of your fights. A lot of the people in the neighborhood are, so loosen up dude! You’re fine here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake and Ilia had met Sun shortly after they moved to the Kennel, transplants from Menagerie and publicly vilified by the White Fang Fight Club - the one and only faunus-only MMA gym that operated on an international level - the duo had found themselves the targets of petty vandalism and threats from those who perceived the duo as race traitors for daring to defect to the TEAM XL gym over half a year prior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He and his partner Neptune had assisted in the apprehension of a particularly stubborn attempted arsonist, and with his cheerful demeanor and easy way, had gone a long way towards helping Ilia and Blake herself feel less… scrutinized by the local police presence. While he often came off as a male bimbo alongside his friend Neoptune, the truth was it was the air of confidence and transparency they exuded that allowed them to easily police and maintain the Kennel, which would normally prove difficult in the face of anti-faunus prejudice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that he had managed to get himself promoted to the rank of detective at such a young age, as well as erase any and all tension from her human friends’ shoulders with a simple comment, also reinforced the fact that behind his kind blue eyes, the man was disarmingly bright and intuitive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yang Xiao Long,” The blonde brawler returns, her naturally bright manner starting to color her words again as she clasps hands with the detective, “pugilist, mixed-martial artist, </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed fetishist</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and poet! It’s a pleasure to meet you”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake rolls her eyes and manages to cover her grin with her tea cup as Yang tacks the term </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘poet’</span>
  </em>
  <span> onto the end of her introduction with such startling casualness that it almost sounds sincere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sun’s smile turns mischievous and Blake has only a scant moment to try and quash the sudden dread in the pit of her stomach before the monkey faunus blurts out, “Fascinating, two cheerful high energy blondies? I’m starting to think Blake has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>type!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that Yang’s eyes widen in horrified - if misled - realization, “O-oh, you two are an ite-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question dies on the blonde brawler’s lips as Sun breaks out laughing and Blake has to restrain the urge to launch the ornate teacup she’s clutching at his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope! Blake’s ill-equipped for my preferences, it’s just nice to watch something finally get to her,” The monkey faunus doesn’t even yelp as Blake’s newly freed hand swats him upside the back of the head, “catching you in the crossfire was just a bonus!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee thanks,” Yang grumbles, but it’s good-natured, loose, comfortable, and despite the embarrassment that lances through the feline faunus, she’s happy to have the jovial version of her human friend around, “so that story’s hysterical, had many like it being a detective, I’m guessing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh the stories I could tell” Sun starts, looping his thumbs into the belt loop of the startlingly juvenile jean shorts that he took to wearing off duty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Going to stop you right there Sun, but there are only so minutes in the day,” Blake says in a measured tone, though he sees the slight objection in the detective’s eyes, “aaaaand Yang and I are here on something of a date, get to know each other outside the gym, that sort of thing”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The comment was intended to give her some space, and to cut Sun’s patently entertaining - if notoriously long-winded - penchant for storytelling off at the knees. The comment left her mouth smooth and with conviction, an air of practice honed from time in a far more tense environment. It would have flawlessly passed muster to, of course, if only Yang hadn’t been far more surprised than the monkey faunus had been at it and subsequently choked on her tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ooooooooh, didja tell Yang that?” Sun prods, eyebrow raised as Yang blushingly grabs a handful of napkins to wipe at her face before turning to meet Blake’s impressively caustic yellow glare, “Whelp, date night it is and I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>out!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blake, a pleasure as always. Yang it was nice to meet you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake’s bright eyes linger on his retreating back with such intensity that she half expects him to burst into flame before he reaches the exit. Fortunately for the monkey faunus the raven-haired woman has yet to discover her latent pyrokinetic powers on this day and he’s out the door and gone, which gives her room to sigh before she turns and nearly jumps out of her skin at the proximity of Yang’s hopeful, lilac gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So this is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Internally Blake’s entertaining the idea of taking a boneless plunge off her stool in the hopes that she can render herself unconscious off the polished hardwood floor as Yang fields the question with such painful earnestness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Deep breath Blake,’ She mentally assures herself, ‘she’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s cute, she’s sweet and Dust dammit a date doesn’t have to mean anything!’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want it to be?” Blake deflects, putting on a passive air and hoping it looks as aloof as she wants it to. If she’s really lucky the heat in her cheeks isn’t showing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-no… I mean yeah? Yes?” Yang spends a moment running through how she’d responded to the posed question before nodding, “Blake, I have decided that if this is a date, then I gladly accept!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t do that,” Blake smirks, a borderline </span>
  <em>
    <span>offended</span>
  </em>
  <span> glimmer that flashes across the blonde brawler’s eyes for a moment, “you asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hang out, technically I accepted the date!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, damn I’m good!” The elder Xiao Long-Rose sister’s emphatic fistpump earns a chuckle from Blake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really are!” Blake splits between feeling smug and feeling guilty as she caps the interaction off with a sly, “So since you took me out on this date, you’re getting the bill, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of Blake regrets the comment as it leaves her lips, it sounds cheap, crass, coquettish in a way that irks and disturbs her. Even if she means it to come out in a hard-to-get, </span>
  <em>
    <span>playful</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of manner, she can feel the shudder creep up her spine at the memories of a different time, a different </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blake Belladonna</span>
  </em>
  <span> standing at one bar or another in Menagerie, looking at all the boys playing at being men offering her the world, and her extent within that realm lasting all of the one or two paid-for drinks they could afford for her time before her interest turned to the next hopeful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily she’s torn from that memory by Yang’s bright laughter, and she feels those specters fade back into her subconscious where she hopes they stay. Buried under the humiliation of a person she hoped to never revisit again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Walked right into that one,” Yang gives her head a shake before turning to face Blake entirely, “so, since this has graduated to date-status, what do you want to know about me? I’m an open book!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake quirks an eyebrow at the challenge, it was hard to focus on a heavy or involved question simply because of who Yang was as a person. Yang Xiao Long was exactly who she appeared to be, and yet none of those things, you could call her a blonde bimbo with zero irony and hit the nail on the head, yet miss the fact entirely that it was a persona bolstered by genuine warmth, happiness and lust for life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Open book, huh?” Blake trails off, “Okay then, favorite color?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn, getting to the serious stuff fast!” The blonde teases, “Yellow and orange tie for first! Alright now...  let’s see if Blake Belladonna is an open book herself”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A heavily redacted government folder, more like…” Blake drolly states as she pours herself yet another cup of tea, “fire away, I’ll let you know if something’s too far”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmmmm,” Yang trails off, fingers steepling under her chin as she considers her question, Blake merely quirks an eyebrow while she sips at her freshly poured tea, “FAVORITE DINOSAUR!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question is lobbed with such stone faced conviction that Blake nearly chokes on her own drink, luckily she manages to save it and sets her cup down quickly before looking at Yang with a questioning gaze, “Favorite… dinosaur… really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very! You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite dinosaur!” Blake doesn’t know how her blonde teammate manages to keep a straight face during that declaration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I… uh” It had really been a long time since Blake held any sort of fascination with the dinosaur craze of her youth, moreover it had felt like something forbidden in her hometown of menagerie, where the stalwart belief in the Four Maidens fable often had people claiming that dinosaurs were put there by the evil wife of Ozma to shake people’s faith.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Naturally, since dinosaur archaeology had become something of a rare, taboo subject around her circle of faith-driven peers, Blake’s inner-hipster had revelled in studying it for a time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stegosaurus,” Blake nods to herself, remembering many a long, humid evening spent indoors, trying to get her own drawings of the fantastical prehistoric behemoth to come out </span>
  <em>
    <span>just right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “defensively armored, and walks around with a literal mace just attached to its tail!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde brawler beside her nods, the answer satisfying her curiosity as her serious expression melts into her normal, carefree grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two exchange questions for almost forty minutes after that, gauging personality and preference through innocent and carefree topics that barely relate to anything yet somehow feel refreshingly honest and open. There’s no judgement, only airy teasing that totally lacks any semblance of bite or malice and more often than not the two end up laughing together as they try to come up with increasingly vapid topics in an escalating game of trying to throw the other one off their game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As with most good things, though, the light atmosphere comes to an end with the beeping of Blake’s scroll cutting her off mid-laugh as the blonde brawler is in the midst of explaining why peanut butter is - in fact - the ultimate sandwich condiment. The cat faunus gives her teammate an apologetic shrug before checking her messages and unleashing a long sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ilia?” Yang queries</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blake nods with a chuckle before typing a response, “Ilia” she states flatly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fierce gal,” The blonde brawler chuckles as she fishes her wallet out and sets several Lien bills on the counter, “surprised it took her this long to realize you weren’t at the gym”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, she’s distracted by her new favorite activity, torturing Weiss Schnee under the guise of </span>
  <em>
    <span>training,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The dark haired woman chuckles as she tucks her scroll away, smiling fondly at the fact that Yang had elected to pay for their tea despite her teasing, “thanks for treating me, by the way”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang waves it off but Belladonna would swear the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister’s smile brightened by several gradients regardless, “You’re welcome! What kind of date would I be if I didn’t foot the bill?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The audible notification of her scroll causes Blake to groan and dig the device out again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lemme guess…” Yang snickers as she pushes off her stool, standing up straight and stretching her hands above her head with a satisfied series of pops, “... </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘get away from that blonde human and come pick me up?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Close enough,” Blake rolls her eyes, “they’re done training for the day, she needs a ride home. Surprisingly no </span>
  <em>
    <span>blonde bimbo</span>
  </em>
  <span> cracks yet, that’ll probably happen when she sees you hop out of my car”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘As well as through the next two weeks’ Blake’s inner voice adds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat faunus joins her friend in walking to the door, bidding farewell to the shopkeeper and several of the regular patrons she knew only in passing. Right before the duo make their exit though a thought occurs to Blake and she playfully nudges Yang with her shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a thought, but,” Blake trails off, genuine curiosity rolling off of her as she makes eye contact with her friend, “I got one last question before our date technically ends, would you be </span>
  <em>
    <span>terribly miffed</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I made it a more serious one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister turns to fully face her teammate, arms crossed as she pretends to mull it over before nodding to the faunus woman, “Go ahead…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Well, we shared some pressing details about ourselves today. You know, the basics like favorite movie genre, sandwich condiments… </span><em><span>whether we believed pumas were actually real or not,</span></em><span>” Blake manages to keep her grin soft despite Yang’s chuckle nearly setting her off into a giggle fit of her own, “but I just want to know, not in any great detail, but in general; what is your </span><b><em>no go</em></b> <span>topic? The one you don’t and won’t talk about, ever?”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lilac eyes widen a bit at the question, and the light hearted nature of the date seems to evaporate. Blake worries for a moment that she may have pushed the question too far, but after a moment of staring into the blonde brawler’s eyes she can see the gears spinning, Yang Xiao Long might have been a few things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She would realize that Blake’s question wasn’t meant to prod, but instead to set a firm boundary between the two of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A line they wouldn’t cross unless by choice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My line is Raven Branwen,” The blonde states with finality, normally boisterous voice falling flat, “she is my no go topic. How about yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the response and posited inquiry, Blake feels something within her unclench.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“White Fang,” the dark-haired faunus responds as she reaches out to open the door to the tea house and motions Yang through with an exaggerated flourish, “and with that! Our date has concluded!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tension of the moment evaporates at Yang’s easy laugh as she steps past her teammate and out into the late afternoon sun of Vale summer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was good to get to talk with you Blake,” Yang casts over her shoulder as the two women make their way out to the side parking lot, “we’ll have to do this again, I get to pick the next location though!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m giving </span>
  <em>
    <span>a mere human</span>
  </em>
  <span> a second date?” The comment would sound harsh in any other context save for the dark-haired woman’s exaggeratedly snotty tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Duh! How could you possibly resist round two with the Original Yangster?” The blonde calls out in a sing-song voice, prompting a laugh from her teammate, “I mean, I openly admitted that my favorite horror movie is </span><em><span>Shark</span></em> <em><span>Twister</span></em><span>, I am clearly in tune with a lady’s needs”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop, my ovaries can only take so much…” Blake dryly responds as she unlocks her car before smiling at her friend’s bright burst of laughter, “... also </span>
  <b>
    <em>Original Yangster?</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Madam, I am a goddess of merchandising genius!” The blonde bites back as she climbs into the vehicle.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter took a bit longer to get out, spent a lot of time trying to really organize how I wanted this chapter to go and I gotta tell y'awl, it was a challenge.</p><p>The world of MMA nicknames gives rise to some of the most incredible - and not the good kind of incredible - monikers, and as we all know, if there's one character in RWBY canon that would wallow ion that, it would be Yang Xiao Long. The Original Yangster is a one of many kind of deal and I look forward to brain storming the most wince-inducing garbage at my leisure!</p><p>LASTLY, during the editing process, I cut off an extra portion that didn't really fit on the end of this chapter and would only serve to confuse the passage of time in this story, especially because I have an aversion to typing out stuff like ///TWO DAYS LATER!/// so I chopped it off. I might also clean up the flashback sequence as I'm doing some active editing as I re read old chapters.</p><p>Sorry for the distinct lack of Oscar in this chapter</p><p>And as always, comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Parting Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With his financial situation firmly back in the red, Oscar searches through his family's belongings, hoping for a second trip to the well and maybe - hopefully - get to see a certain silver-eyed fighter once again.</p>
<p>Naturally, things don't go as planned for the poor farm hand, only this time Yang, Blake and Taiyang are there to witness it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Oscar tosses the now dirty butter knife into the sink, not bothering to rinse the utensil as he picks up the sandwich he’s just made and takes a voracious bite out of it. The slight pain in his belly ebbing and fading as he sates his hunger. All too soon the sandwich is gone, nothing but crumbs and aftertaste remaining as he stares hopelessly around his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sandwich wasn’t even particularly good, just simple peanut butter on the heel-ends of the last loaf of bread he’d had. The ends ignored - almost tossed out - before the former farm hand had found himself desperate enough to need them. There was nothing else on it, his jam preserves having been finished the week prior, and now, as he sweeps the crumbs up and tosses them into the kitchen waste basket and sets about recapping the distressingly light jar of peanut butter, the reality of his situation hits all too hard once again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had been scrimping, doing his utmost to stretch the groceries he’d bought over three weeks ago, oftentimes fasting or limiting himself to simply one meal a day while waiting and hoping against hope for another temp job or a phone call from any of the workplaces he’d dropped an application off to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither had happened, and now here he was, in an apartment he couldn’t afford staring at empty cupboards.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar wants to scream. Wants to slam his fists into the world around him in anger. Wants to do something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take this pressure that had been boiling up inside of him over the past several days as his funds and hope dwindled down to zero in equal measure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just as quickly as the urge for mindless destruction comes though it leaves, it leaves with the realization of how much energy it would take for something so pointless. It leaves because he knows any catharsis gained from ripping the doors off his kitchen cabinets would be temporary, fleeting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just like his cash flow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaky hands flip the sink on and for once the former farm hand is thankful that - despite his landlord’s claims - there is no reliably hot water in the building as he cups his hands beneath the ivy stream and splashes it on his face, eyes shut tightly as he tries to will a solution into existence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t surprised about being outright ignored by the places he’d dropped his resume too, in fact he’d expected it. Any claims of his work ethic while growing up on a family owned farm was largely word-of-mouth, and despite having got some work experience outside of any perceived nepotism since then, they weren’t the type of places eager to give a country bumpkin like him a glowing recommendation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar would be surprised if any of his previous coworkers remember his name, to be frank.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t a dynamic person, having neither the strength of character nor the natural charm of charisma to appear as more than he was. He was a simple, honest person in his own mind, and until he came to the City of Vale, he’d spent his entire life thinking that was more than good enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The temp agency’s silence was slightly more confusing, as though they distanced themselves from the people they’d refused to compensate. Whether it was genuine shame or just legal indifference that caused the divide, Oscar couldn’t say. All he knew was that it was going to contribute to his grim future prospects at the rate he was going.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shutting the water off, Oscar trudges over to his couch and sits down heavily, wincing as the broken spring buries itself in his thigh with enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should be out on the streets by now, pounding pavement and doing all he could to get a job, and yet the will, the work ethos he’d long prided himself on having just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t there.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He felt tired, </span>
  <em>
    <span>defeated</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there was very little outside of a call for a job offer or money raining from the sky that would make that better. Thinking about how he had nothing to eat tomorrow made him feel sick enough that the recently consumed sandwich in his stomach felt like it was going to come back up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The realization that his rent would be due in another week made him shiver at the idea that - at </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he’d find a spot at a homeless shelter, filled with strangers just as desperate as he currently felt. Most even worse, and even if there was a small percentage that would crush him to get ahead in life, it was still enough to make him dread the very idea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar closes his eyes and tilts his head back, breathing slow and calm as he tries to let the anxiety and fear drain out of him, it was something that he’d been taught by his parents and later had been stressed by his aunt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good decisions came from clear minds and nothing else</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘I can’t afford to make a bad decision right now’ His brain reminds him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another slow, long inhale through the nose and the former farm hand counts to five slowly before exhaling. Willing his body to calm. Forcing his feet to stop bouncing and his stomach to stop roiling in anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pause, and his eyes open to stare at the ceiling of his shitty bachelor apartment. At the eggshell white paint, marred by cracks and chips that ran the length of the apartment itself. At the dark spots caused by unattended leaks in the infrastructure of the building.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There had to be a solution to his problem, it was another lesson that had been drilled into him by his family, by his late parents and his aunt. Many a winter approached that Oscar feared after an unexceptional harvest, the dried bush cords of wood dwindling in the frigid dead months coming out of a particularly harsh season, or being down to quarter rations of dried and salted meat while his mother had watered down broth to the point his meals were the equivalent of a poorly flavored beverage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the taxes went up and the years went past, Oscar had learned to take heart in his aunt's ability to keep their farm afloat no matter the circumstances, from frugal spending habits, to tense negotiations with neighboring farms and suppliers, to selling stuff, regardless of emotional attachment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His aunt always found a way to keep them living.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A moment passes and his eyes widen as the realization hits him, the shirt he’d sold Ruby! His father’s old prized collection of MMA apparel! He’s off the couch and storming over to the supply closet just beside his washroom’s door, ignoring the slight pang of guilt he feels over being so eager and willing to sell stuff that had been so important to the late patriarch of the Pine family. However it slides off easily when he considers the alternative.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opening the closet, he yanks out the familiar, weathered tote full of bits of apparel and his parent’s effects. His hands rummage through the items, brain making a pointed effort to not stop and get distracted by framed photos of happier times in his life. He sets several items from his childhood out of the way, his first pair of shoes, a small metal keepsake box with his name engraved on it, every so often pulling loose an article of clothing or a small glossy photo of a mixed martial artist standing beside the image of a father far younger than the one in Oscar’s own memory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s when the box is almost emptied out completely that he pauses, breath and hope hitching in his chest in equal measure as he spots what appeared to be another shirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This one isn’t cream colored though, instead a leatherish tan with a marbled pattern running across it. He grabs it and quickly unfolds it with shaking hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The image in the flawless press-on graphic isn’t of Summer Rose, instead this woman is shaded in all white with bloody red eyes, the taller muscular frame wielding what appeared to be a stylized spike baseball bat over her shoulder and a devil-may-care grin on her face. The only similarity between this woman’s shirt and the one of Ruby’s mother was the backdrop of the Shattered Moon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Across the bottom of the graphic, in white lettered script, are the words: </span>
  <b>
    <em>//“The Bandit” Raven Branwen//</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The name rings with familiarity before Oscar recalls why, even as he carefully folds the shirt back up and tucks it beneath his arm. Raven Branwen was one of the five initial names that came up when he’d decided to look up Ruby’s mother - and by extension, Ruby herself - all those weeks ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been a fierce looking woman, with wild black hair and blood-red eyes Oscar was pretty sure could stop a human heart if she was levelling a glare at anyone. His exhaustion that night had left his mind grasping for more solid state facts of what else he’d read that night, learning of the career of the woman he’d met at Glynda’s Grillhouse, her fight history, her style, her recent loss…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
  <em>
    <span> her mother’s death.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t recall looking into the associated links with her mother’s name though, vaguely recalling that on a few sites that her sister - the boisterous blonde woman who had given him her leather jacket, Yang Xiao Long - figured heavily into her training.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He drags out his scroll then, hands bringing up the browser and quickly typing Raven’s name into the search bar. He huffs impatiently as the spinning icon on the screen drags for a few seconds longer than he figured it would take before the results come up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clicking the top link, his eyes trail down the page as he delves into the personal history of the mysterious red-eyed woman until he gets to a section that mentions </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘marriage and relationships’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was it! The solution he was looking for!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar spends the next few minutes in a flurry, actively ignoring the mess he’d left in his apartment as he quickly finds Yang’s leather jacket and a plastic shopping bag to place both the jacket and the shirt in. Stopping only to cup a few handfuls of tap water in his mouth - something he’ll be sure to regret later - he makes his way to the door of his apartment as shaking, excited hands do a cursory search for the location and directions to the Team XL gym.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With his destination set, Oscar pushes his way out the door, almost forgetting to lock the door to his place as a happy grin on his face, thinking about just how awesome it was going to be, not only to see Ruby and Yang again, but to imagine the smile on the blonde woman’s face when he showed her her mother’s shirt!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Going to survive another month’</span>
  </em>
  <span> His mind basically cheers in realization as he walks to the stairs and makes his way down. A jaunty tune piercing the air as he whispers happily while doing so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>__________</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mixed Martial Arts was - in its infancy - a sport that relied on contrasts. A place that felt like a conflict resolution between multiple different disciplines,almost every fight feeling like a clash of styles rather than it’s own separate thing. A traditional boxer versus a wrestler rarely proved to differentiate the advantages of either style when neither competitor in the fight knew exactly how the other style operated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Moreover, when those early combatants in the sport finally decided to branch out and </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn</span>
  </em>
  <span> other combat styles, there was very little in the way of practical guidance into how any of the existing styles might marry together to formulate any of the variety of gameplans that existed </span>
  <b>
    <em>now</em>
  </b>
  <span>. There was only theory, trial-and-error, then finally: application.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even then, some of those gameplans, those early marriages of style under the umbrella of this new and burgeoning sport, were already long-dead. Once effective and now effectively past it’s user date, only now a footnote into the growing pains behind a sport of contrasts, referenced in something that lay between reverence and quiet amusement at how quaint those early attempts at synergy were.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For longtime fans of the sport, it created an interesting journey to look back on, for former fighters, coaches and even the few older journeymen and women that still occasionally dipped their toes in the waters of MMA, it was a sepia-toned view of nostalgia.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For an athlete that made the jump from a singular discipline into far broader and deeper waters? It was something of a nightmare. Moreso if said athlete had been considered prodigious in their singular discipline. It always struck Yang Xiao Long how disheartening it must be to not be raised under the umbrella of cross-training, to be a beast at something like wrestling, Animbo or Mistrali Jiu-Jitsu, only to have your entire world flipped on its head the moment you were forced to adapt to the fact that your opponent wasn’t bound in the same discipline.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was that surprise that always showed in the eyes of a prize-fighting, world-class boxer the moment they realized their talented hands and ego meant nothing against an even mildly talented grappler that knew enough to not trade blows and instead dragged them to the ground and choked them unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was the same surprise that was currently on Weiss Schnee’s face as Ruby rocked her head back with a twin set of jabs before lunging in for a barebones double leg takedown and immediately took side control.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang would defend the former heiress’ talents in a fight all day. The white haired woman was an insanely talented grappler, more often than not freely able to tap out anybody in Team XL during rolling practice, with AND without the traditional Mistrali Jiu-Jitsu Gi on, and that talent extended to a seemingly preternatural ability to stuff wrestling takedowns and even avoid throws from the clinch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yet when those exercises evolved into something more real, more indicative of the violence that existed inside the cage, where all disciplines could and often </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> meld together into the sport that Yang loved and thrived within, the cracks would show in Weiss’ glacial blue eyes, and then soon after would transfer to the rest of her game.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Weiss could stuff a takedown with impunity right up until somebody put her on her back foot with strikes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Weiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be choking Ruby unconscious right now if Ruby was looking to submit Weiss in turn, instead of what the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing, which was putting pressure on Weiss’ chest to keep her pinned and struggling while Ruby tried to obtain a far superior position from which to land blows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Weiss </span>
  <b>
    <em>should</em>
  </b>
  <span> be winning this grappling contest, were it not a mixed martial arts spar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was frustrating to watch, to say the least. Yang couldn’t imagine how it had to feel for her white-haired friend, to know that you were often touted as the most promising prospect in a discipline with a proven track record of success Remnant-wide - especially within MMA - only to immediately be thrown for a loop when she discovered that almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> she learned had to be adapted and altered to fit into an entirely different mold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Not that I doubt she can’t do it,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>The blonde brawler assured herself as she watched with some satisfaction as Weiss managed to hook Ruby’s left leg and grapevine it, pulling her half-sister from side mount into half-guard, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘just gonna take a little more time for her to truly </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>get</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> it’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been almost thirty minutes of two-minute rounds, Yang observing while Ilia and Ruby rotated as the former heiress’ opponents. The drill was loosely labelled as takedown and submission defense, but given Weiss’ talent at the static, traditional versions of those drills, Qrow had opened the drills up to allow for striking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The difference in Weiss’ effectiveness with that new wrinkle in said drills was staggering, but even someone as negative about the younger Schnee daughter’s very </span>
  <em>
    <span>existence</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Ilia could admit, she was closing that gap in her game admirably.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang was keeping an eye as an observer currently because Qrow had received a scroll call concerning an agreed-upon deal involving some new merch for both Weiss Schnee - a surefire cash cow given the excitement that was building for the former heiress’ international debut with the company - and of course finalizing the design for her sister’s shirt. As such the ornery drinker was now in his office, no doubt in a conference call between the RFL, and Team XL’s lawyer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde woman’s scroll beeps at her, “TIME! Ruby switch out, Weiss back on your feet and we’ll take it from the top! Remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snow Angel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those punches are keeping you off balance, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> they’re opening you up for takedowns, if you don’t think you can get low enough to stuff the takedown in time, at least try to time a knee and make them pay for shooting in!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You trying to kill me?!” Ilia loudly voices, eyes narrowing at the blonde, obviously incensed over the advice that might get the young faunus woman to eat a knee to the mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax, you’ve seen Weiss throw knees,” Yang chuckles as the former heiress manages to muster up the energy to flip her off at that jab while Ilia shrugs and the two start to square up, “two more minutes and we’ll do a midday cooldown and then get some food, got it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither woman turns to face Yang but she gets a nod from them either way, Ruby meanwhile stands on the sidelines, pacing to keep her muscles loose while taking measured sips from her bottle of water, silver eyes never leaving the continuing spar between her best friend and the oft-caustic chameleon faunus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, begin!” Yang calls before tapping the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>timer start’</span>
  </em>
  <span> button on her scroll.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ilia was a fighter with a high volume output of strikes. She liked to pressure and often did so with impunity, but the faunus woman still retained the wherewithal to value the effect of good head movement and counters. She may have been aggressive, but there was almost always a measured amount of caution even while she was throwing, she guarded her chin even while throwing kicks, she looked to work angles before moving in to throw strikes, there was a quality fighter IQ ticking in that brain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The caveat being, as long as Ilia was thinking clearly. There was a definitive end to any caution or discipline in an Ilia Amitola fight, one that was something of an infamous barrier that had been exploited in fights before, and one that most any fan of mixed martial arts in the world was always excited to see.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the chameleon faunus was mad in a fight, not frustrated or upset, but genuinely, intensely </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, caution went out the window and fights simply… </span>
  <b>
    <em>went places.</em>
  </b>
  <span> It wasn’t hard to spot the switch, due to the nature of Ilia’s faunus trait, she’d turn a scathing shade of red and her freckles would turn a bright yellow, coloring mirroring the shades of raw </span>
  <em>
    <span>anger</span>
  </em>
  <span> that rarely skimmed the surface of the woman’s visage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang still fondly recalled how - the first time she and her sister had seen one of Ilia’s outbursts in the cage back when the smaller of their faunus Team XL peers used to fight under the White Fang Fight Club Banner - Ruby compared the ensuing carnage as </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking like what happens when you hit all the buttons at the arcade because you don’t know what does what.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘An oddly apt comparison’ Yang smiles to herself as Ilia wades in towards the white-haired woman, flinging out a right straight that had bad intentions but got slapped aside as Weiss stepped out and to the left, circling wide to make her opponent work to pin her down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Putting Ilia and Weiss into a contact spar was a gamble, the blonde thought as she watched the furrowed brow of Weiss switch from her normally studious, concentrating expression into one of both annoyance and caution while Ilia herself looked how she normally looked while looking at the former heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, thoroughly disgusted. It was a playing-with-fire tactic that Yang’s father had decided upon, the chameleon faunus simply would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> consider giving Weiss any quarter, and had such a widely-varied striking arsenal that the white-haired woman would have plenty of opportunity to learn how to dodge, block and counter just about anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the same time, there was little-to-no doubt in anyone at Team XL’s mind that Ilia would hardly be upset should the former heiress be injured in an unfortunate training accident.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was why Ruby was only a few feet away from the action, silver eyes locked and focused on the spar but her normally animated mannerisms muted and forgotten beneath a facade of calm, clinical observance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was why Yang hadn’t thrown on her jacket and had been routinely doing calisthenics to keep her body loose and malleable should she too need to intervene.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was why Yang nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand settled on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s this going?” Blake wonders, though amusement paints her voice at Yang bolting upright rigidly at the unexpected contact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a moment to let out a strained sigh, the blonde keeped her eyes focused on the spar as Ilia closes the distance, lunging in with a teep kick that Weiss artfully side-steps, but as the chameleon faunus’ momentum almost carries her past, her momentum shift and she shoots in for a single, managing to hooking the former heiress’ left leg in a single, Ilia bowls forward but Weiss manages to stay upright by hopping several feet backwards, her left hand swinging hammerfists down atop Ilia’s head, but the awkward angle - combined with the pressure - eventually wins out and the white-haired woman gets taken down to the mat. Weiss still manages to maintain the skill to rotate and drag her other leg up to land into a knee-in half-guard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So far Ilia hasn’t managed to kill Weiss, though not for lack of trying,” Yang notes before giving the raven-haired woman beside her a quick glance and grin, “your fight control lessons are showing though, Weiss is making Ilia work to land anything substantial. It’s forced your friend there to use a lot more feints to open up </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weissicle</span>
  </em>
  <span> for anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blake graces Yang with an arched brow, “... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weissicle</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh I’ve got a million Weiss nicknames,” Yang chuckles, eyes turning back to the spar as Weiss had managed to grab hold of Ilia’s left wrist, right foot raised to the chameleon faunus’ chest, “most are ice related, it’s like the perfect storm for puns”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Noted,” The cat faunus chuckles, watching as Weiss straightens her legs and - with her foot to Ilia’s chest - shoves the faunus off of her, Ilia immediately regains her feet, looking to take top position while Weiss scoots backwards on the mat, reclined slightly and looking to throw an upkick should Ilia get a bit to enthused and leap onto her without looking, “good to see some lessons are starting to stick. How about her striking and head movement?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Both women freeze as Ilia barely manages to not eat a brutal upkick on the chin. The chameleon faunus looks thoroughly vexed by the close call and rushes down onto Weiss, unfortunately diving straight into an arm triangle. Weiss immediately starts trying to gain purchase by looping her legs around Ilia’s waist, hoping to get enough of an anchor point to work the head-and-arm choke, but being on the bottom of the grapple, Ilia quickly uses her position to pin Weiss’ hips to the mat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Letting out a soft exhale of relief, Yang gives Blake a quick glance, “Could be better, Weiss’ standup before she got here was non-existent except for one of those dumbass ‘self-defense’ seminars her father signed her up for after… well </span>
  <em>
    <span>y’know…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she trails off with a wince.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blake for her part nods in understanding, she opens her mouth then, only to be cut off by the sound of Yang’s scroll beeping.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s time, do a cooldown on your own time then go to lunch, I expect everyone back here by one-thirty!” Yang calls, watching with mild relief as Ilia and Weiss break from their position on the ground cleanly. The white-haired woman giving the chameleon faunus a quiet thank you that - as per the norm - went ignored as Ilia simply ignored the former heiress and stormed over to the locker room door, stopping only briefly to give Blake and Yang herself a curious and distrustful glance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby meanwhile walks over to the far more exhausted Weiss and offers a hand which is gladly accepted, the younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter pulling the white-haired woman to her feet with a grin. Yang smiles as she watches her sister offering positive comments to her best friend as the duo start on some mild stretches.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Weiss’ brain is a sponge,” Blake comments, drawing a mild look of surprise from the blonde at showing even the slightest hint of respect for the Schnee in Team XL, “she’ll get it eventually. Though if you ask me to put money on it, Nora is probably going to bash her in their fight”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Team XL does not bet against their own!” The lilac-eyed fighter responds in a faux-gruff tone, the growl in her voice a rather remarkable simile of her uncle Qrow before she gives Blake a lopsided grin, “So, y’know, if you’re gonna put money down, do it off the books!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Noted,” Blake scoffs before turning and walking in a hall that looped around to the front of the building, the large bay doors connected to the hallways led out into a small delivery bay they used to receive new equipment, but since they had no need to walk out there they continued on their merry way, opening a side door to the cardio room and cutting across to the main lobby of the Team XL gym, “so what have you got planned for lunch?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Noodles and more noodles,” Yang manages a cheer with flagrantly faux-cheer as she sarcastically pumps her fist like she’d won some sort of prize, “want to do a pure cardio day tomorrow, so I’m carb-loading, you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Salmon over wheat rice, lemon for flavor…” Blake states simply and Yang manages to reign in a smile at how unapologetically cat-like her teammate’s diet tended to be, though there was a small twinge of jealousy at the fact that even without flavoring, Blake’s nature could likely have her digging into that fish without any dip in her enthusiasm or enjoyment of the meal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the word… </span>
  <em>
    <span>pescatarian?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yang ventured, giving the feline faunus a sideways grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I enjoy red meat too sometimes,” Belladonna replies with a light eye roll before glancing at the blonde as they made their way through the lobby, the third office that went largely unused beside Taiyang’s having long ago been converted into the communal kitchen was in sight now, “I’m impressed Yang, not one cat pun about my seafood loving habits?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lilac eyes sparkle with amusement at that comment, “Hey now, just because I don’t </span>
  <b>say</b>
  <span> them doesn’t me-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… Y-Yang?” A voice calls across the lobby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Both Team XL members turn to address the voice, belonging to the slim form of a young brunette man who’s eyes jumped between Yang herself and the golden eyes of the cat faunus beside her. He looks nervous, unsure… and he also looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we help you?” Blake starts, obviously more focused on the moment than her teammate who was currently sifting through her mental rolodex to figure out why she knew this man standing in the lobby of her father’s gym.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, first I need to return this-” The familiar man’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he reaches a hand into the shopping bag he was holding and pulling out a far more familiar leather jacket.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the reveal of the much-loved bomber jacket Yang’s eyes widen and a wide smile breaks out across her face, “Oscar! It’s been a few weeks now, I was starting to think maybe my jacket was gone for good!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She starts over to the young man, keenly aware that Blake trailed behind her a few steps as she makes her way over to the nice young man with the very distinct yellow-green eyes. He tosses the jacket lightly and she catches it easily, the comforting feel of the beaten leather of the jacket feeling almost nostalgic in her hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry for the wait, I’ve just had a…” Oscar trails off, his free hand rubbing at the messy mop of hair on the back of his head, “l-let’s just say </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span> couple of weeks and leave it at that, sorry I couldn’t really afford to wash it or anything, but I only wore it once… so”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang shrugs, the smile on her face displaying her clear pleasure at having her jacket returned, she casts the look over to Blake, “This is the guy that sold the Summer Rose shirt to Ruby, Oscar. Oh Oscar, this is Blake, she’s another fighter for Team XL!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar holds out his free hand to shake but Blake stares at the hand before nodding to him politely, apparently the warm smiles and easy conversation she’d been sharing just moments previously with the blonde brawler were solely for the elder Xiao Long-Rose sister and not random humans she was just meeting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Part of Yang was pleased at that, and she was only going to examine </span>
  <b>
    <em>why</em>
  </b>
  <span> in the safety of her own head, at home, with her phone turned off and the blinds pulled shut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A moment passes before Oscar shirks under the cat faunus’ seeming disinterest and drops his hands slowly back to his side, cheeks dusted red in embarrassment. Yang would have felt inclined to say something about her friend’s behavior, but she was currently floating at the possibility that Blake’s reaction was based more on schoolyard jealousy than the fact that most of humanity was on it’s back foot in regards to whether or not the faunus wouldn’t be somewhat off put by their mere presence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well thank you so much,” Yang mercifully decides to cut through the silence after a prolonged moment of realizing she was just, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>standing there like an airhead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “I know I insisted you take my jacket back at Glynda’s, but it means a bit to me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“O-oh, no problem,” Oscar grins, the shakiness that had entered his expression at having seemingly been totally disregarded by Blake a moment ago disappearing as his yellow-green eyes scan around the lobby and suddenly fall upon the Summer Rose shirt currently displayed behind the lobby desk in a shadowbox, “Hey! Ruby decided to display it!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” Yang beams at the exclamation, the rise in the young man’s voice and the happiness in his statement at the mere mention of Ruby earning a raised eyebrow from the blonde brawler which - in turn - causes something of a smug smirk to cross Blake’s lips, “unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> we know, Ruby knows enough to not go around getting into fights while wearing collector’s items!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny,” Oscar deadpans in a monotone flat enough to balance a stable budget on, though both women notice his free hand trail up to the side of his head and gently run over the slight part in his hair, a small line of scar tissue there, “seriously though, it looks good. Ruby told me she’d been looking for it for so long but I still didn’t think it’d end up displayed in the lobby of a gym”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You kidding?” Yang’s voice is somewhere in between mild incredulousness and genuine amusement, “Our dad might own this place, but this was the gym of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Summer Rose</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t think Ruby had any other ideas for what to do with the shirt other than this!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She spent about twenty minutes standing in the front lobby staring at it the day it got put up,” Blake deadpans, “I swear she didn’t blink once, thought she died for about a m-gah!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang’s light poke to Blake’s ribs stops the acerbic comment short and earns the blonde a half-hearted glare that Yang just grins through before turning back to Oscar, whose expression seems oddly… </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieved</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know that the shirt he’d sold Ruby was put into a place of seeming reverence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Ruby told me what the shirt was to you Oscar,” Yang ventures, somewhat thrown off by the young man’s reaction to something he’d already been paid for, “she’d treat it like gold even if she hadn’t decided to put it up on the wall here”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That earns a blush from the former farm hand, who scratches the back of his head awkwardly, “Y-yeah I know, it’s just, well… easier to bring up the other reason I’m here today”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elder Xiao Long-Rose sister quirks an eyebrow at that. Did the young brunette man want Yang to go get Ruby so they could continue their intensely awkward flirting? Did she need to do the </span>
  <b>
    <em>Big Sister</em>
  </b>
  <span> and pleasantly allude to the types of physical harm that should befall him if he hurt her sister in any manner whatsoever? Did he wa-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What other reason would that be?” Blake’s droll inquiry mercifully cuts Yang’s thought process short.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar lifts the plastic bag he’s dragged Yang’s leather jacket out of previously, “Well, I had a look through my parent’s stuff to see if there were any more collectibles and I think I found something </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be interested in, Yang”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde quirked an eyebrow at Blake who just shrugged in response before turning back to nod at the former farmhand, who excitedly walks over to the front desk of the lobby and digs out what appears to be another shirt. From the nearby office emerges Taiyang, a mug of tea in hand he stops and does a double take at the trio in his lobby consisting of his daughter, a faunus, and a total stranger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You girls better not be slacking…” the blond man says cautiously before his serious glare turns into a far more natural easy grin, earning an eye roll from both fighters and a trepidatious look from the brunette man currently clutching a wrinkled shirt, “... I’m not interrupting a drug deal, am I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blake shirk at what was - in actuality - a lame attempt at levity, but unfortunately could also be misconstrued as a comment steeped in profiling. The blonde brawler knew the difference, and knew that her faunus teammate absolutely did as well, it was just an ingrained emotional response from unfortunate prior experiences with humans. Oscar for his part works his mouth open and closed a number of times, totally unaware as to how to respond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good thing I’m here’ Yang mentally high-fives herself for seemingly being the only person in the room with easily accessible social skills.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, this is Oscar,” she nods towards the young man holding the shirt, “Ruby’s ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>cute boy with the Summer’</span>
  </em>
  <span> shirt. He brought my jacket back!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elder Xiao Long-Rose sister watches the gears spin in her father’s head as he processes the facets of her introduction, from the name, to the mention of the shirt, all the way up to the brunet being </span>
  <b>
    <em>Ruby’s cute boy</em>
  </b>
  <span>, which was where Taiyang’s normally kind blue eyes started to narrow. Yang grins over her shoulder to Blake, obviously amused at causing her father to flip into ‘Dad Mode’ and gets a soft huff of quiet laughter in response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I’ve also brought this today, I’m kind of in a bind and wondered if Yang might want to buy…” Holding the shoulders of the shirt he’d dragged out of the shopping bag a moment ago, Oscar gives the garment a quick shake, unfurling it and displaying the front graphis to everyone in the room, “... </span>
  <b>
    <em>this!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a moment for the woman known as Yang Xiao Long to process what she’s looking at. It’s an RFL original fighter shirt, the similarities between the Summer Rose article that was on the wall and this one numerous, even with the coloring and naming differences. The visage of the woman on the front of the shirt is starkly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>painfully </span>
  </em>
  <span>familiar and causes a multitude of emotions to run through her in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That feeling of abandonment, hollow and heavy in her chest is the most familiar among them, joining in of course is anger that lies thick atop everything, simmering and smoldering, the bile in her stomach roiling at the site and aided by the disgust that it was a face so much like her own, so familiar and yet so strange. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everything else in her heart feels so distant in that moment though, pain, anxiety, that small thread of hope that she denied was still there, drowned under the tide that she felt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang isn’t aware she’s acted on that anger, that frustration, until she feels herself bodily wrapped in the arms of her father and Blake both, the red in her vision dimming and she’s suddenly keenly aware of the grinding of her teeth, the pulsing of her heart in her ears, the heavy, rushed breaths and rawness of her throat as though she’d just been screaming, nor the feeling of cloth torn and rent in her hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anger ebbs as the voices of both her father and Blake cut through the adrenal haze, leaving confusion, a moment of manic grasping for where reality lay against the emotional blackout she’d just been forcibly dragged out of takes a moment as details start to hit her in stark contrast to her own raw emotion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blake somehow remains calm, telling Yang to just breathe and relax, that it’s ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a shirt’</span>
  </em>
  <span>, while Taiyang’s voice holds far more weight and authority behind it, demanding that she gain control of her emotions, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Raven isn’t there’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar is currently seated on the floor, yellow-green eyes wide as he stares up at her with shock. His eyes darting between hers and the shirt as the color drains from his visage and new feelings flood Yang then, guilt and embarrassment. Had she really knocked the poor guy for a loop? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Over a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking ugly t-shirt?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe Yang, breathe,” Taiyang instructs, a practised but long forgotten routine in regards to his eldest daughter’s anger that causes the shame flushing the woman’s system to cascade even hotter as she nods at his words, slowing her breathing down to something manageable, calming, “it’s literally a shirt. Even if it wasn’t, even if Raven were standing here herself, you’re better than this sort of behavior, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Obviously not, apparently, but Yang nods regardless while behind her Blake forfeits her grip, instead leaving a calming hand resting between her shoulder blades, rubbing the area in a slow, soothing motion. Any other time that would likely earn a flirting comment or two from the blonde brawler, but right now she just focuses on the calming quality of it, eyes turned down to the tiled floor as she tries to ignore the encroaching embarrassment or the humiliating apologies she now had to formulate to all involved.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“S-sorry Blake… dad…” Yang winces, not meeting their eyes, “sorry Oscar, that wasn’t your fault”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, okay. I guess you really didn’t like the shirt” The comment isn’t made with any sense of humor and seems more like the former farm hand vocalizing his internal monologue than speaking to anyone. He seems somewhat surprised when Taiyang offers him a hand and pulls the slightly built man to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Had nothing to do with the shirt, kiddo,” Taiyang drawls, forcing levity into the comment while giving a look over to his daughter, “my daughter and Raven Branwen have a history”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yang’s eyes raise enough to meet Oscar’s wide yellow-green gaze before turning away in embarrassment, but manages to catch both confusion and curiosity in equal measure flash through his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t they rela-” Oscar cuts his question short and Yang can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> her father’s head shaking, expression almost pleading for Oscar to drop the subject.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You calmed down now?” Blake mutters, so low that only Yang can hear and earns a nod in acknowledgement, but the blonde doesn’t dare meet her dark-haired friend’s gaze, the humiliation of her outburst still boiling through her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh Yang, if I knew I wouldn’t have brought that shirt around, believe me. I just did like, a quick search online and figured y-you’d uh, want to buy it…” Oscar stammers his way through an apology he absolutely doesn’t owe, “I mean, you and Ruby pulled my ass out of the fire last month buying the Summer Rose one from me, so half the reason I was here was solely for selfish reasons, if I’d looked a little deeper into, u-uh stuff, I wouldn’t h-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oscar it’s okay, you didn’t know,” Yang replies thickly, still not able to meet his gaze, though the comment earns her a nod from her father, who then turns to look at the ruined remains of the collector’s item she’d just torn apart in anger, “... </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I ruined it, didn’t I? Guessing you haven’t been able to find a job since the dock, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yang,” Taiyang states in a reprimanding tone serious enough to cause his eldest daughter to flinch, “whether he’s working or not, you are paying for this shirt, understood?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Yang could feel her cheeks getting any hotter she’d burst into flame, “I know that dad, jeez!” another soft huff of laughter from Blake only seems to compound her embarrassment, despite that her eyes finally seem to work their way up to Oscar’s, whose face is admittedly conflicted between refusing payment for the shirt, and </span>
  <b>absolute </b>
  <b>
    <em>relief</em>
  </b>
  <span>, “How much for the shirt Oscar?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is four hundred okay?” Oscar asks hesitantly, and Yang makes a mental note to at least meet the same price Ruby paid for her mother’s shirt, meaning she absolutely needed to stop by the bank shortly, “Oh, and I’ve been beating pavement searching for a job for awhile, I got a job at his warehouse for a few days through a temp agency but uh…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“... but what?” Blake asks curiously, a tinge of humor coloring her voice and earning the first genuine glance from Yang in minutes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“... there was a police raid, trafficking or something. I didn’t make a dime,” Oscar scratches the back of his head, visible frustration marring his brow, “the two detectives I talked to didn’t even have the good grace to just kill me before this month’s rent comes do, so I’m kinda hosed right now”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A long moment passes before Yang hears it, and a moment longer before she realizes what it was, the shaking of Blake’s hand against her back gave away the near silent giggling Blake was trying to suppress as it took the blonde brawler’s brain a moment to catch up on why that unfortunate situation sounded familiar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was the same story Sun had been regaling them with at the tea house a few short days ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon that realization, a choked snort forces it’s way from Yang’s nose, she would have reigned in her laughter after that, honest, but unfortunately all it did was cause the cat faunus’ own self-control to shatter and the dark-haired woman started laughing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At that point, it was a lost cause</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Both women break out into raucous laughter right in front of an affronted Oscar and a thoroughly confused Taiyang, the duo leaning against each other as the mirth reaches a near fever pitch, Yang makes the conscious decision to try and explain that they’re not laughing </span>
  <b>at</b>
  <span> Oscar, but the look on his face makes any attempt at language devolve into nothing more than noise and somehow, even harder laughter as she drops to her knees in the front lobby of a professional mixed martial arts gym, abdominal muscles aching under the strain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s so f- Oscar?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh this ought to be good…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Barely able to see through the tears in their eyes, the duo are aware of the return of Ruby, Weiss and Ilia from their lunch break, the trio standing just in the front door staring at the scene with confusion as the capacity to make even </span>
  <em>
    <span>noise</span>
  </em>
  <span> leaves both the cat faunus and the blonde brawler, instead they just shake silently, much to the amusement of Ruby and Weiss, and the consternation of Ilia.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, nobody laughs like this at your jokes, what did Oscar say?” Ruby asks, watching as Yang continued to rub her now tender ribs while trying to get her breathing under control while the oft-aloof cat faunus was instead covering her face in embarrassment despite still giggling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I honestly have no idea” Taiyang admitted, face telling of a stark cognitive whiplash at having watched his eldest daughter jump from boiling rage a short time before, to hysterical laughter. If it wasn’t for it being the first time he’d ever seen the brick wall of emotion that was Blake Belladonna break into hysterics as well, he’d consider booking the boisterous blonde for a psych evaluation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I… was just telling them about how my temp agency didn’t pay me for several days of work because the majority of the warehouse higher ups got arrested in a police raid and-” He trails off, yellow-green eyes staring into Ruby’s silver with equal measure confusion and indignance, “they just lost their minds”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“WHAT?” Ruby gawks at her sister and teammate as the duo’s giggles renew at Oscar’s abridged tale.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spotting her sister now standing over her, a look akin to a disappointed teacher leering over her, Yang manages to quell the laughter in her chest and takes a single deep, calming breath before levelling her best cheesy smile at the silver-eyed fighter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>I-if you could hit me with your car on the w-way out,</em>
  </b>
  <span>” Yang starts, almost losing herself once again as she hears Blake snicker beside her, “</span>
  <b>
    <em>I’d greatly appreciate it!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby, Weiss, Ilia and Taiyang all stare at her, expressions uncomprehending, but the true highlight, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>coup-de-grace</span>
  </em>
  <span> as it were, was watching realization slowly dawn over Oscar’s face as he gaped at the blonde brawler.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THAT!?” His voice is several octaves higher with it’s disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, Yang and Blake can do nothing but keep laughing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SORRY FOR THE DELAY.</p>
<p>This chapter was a struggle to produce at times, and I tried to focus on explaining and using appropriate terminology in regards to several MMA techniques, but I also let just as much slip for now, just to aid in ease of reading.</p>
<p>I've also been thinking of who each MMA fighter in this story must fight like, their real world counterpart, if you will, and I've decided that Ilia fights like Matt Brown, just a crazy wave of near impossible offense.</p>
<p>I hope the developing relationships within the story are coming along well for the readers that have gotten this far, I've largely been trying to make the characters as true to their in-canon counterparts as I can within the confines of the narrative, even though there's more than a couple ships that are popular in the fandom I plan on crashing into the rocks, just to fit my narrative.</p>
<p>As always, please leave comments and constructive criticism, it's greatly appreciated.</p>
<p>PS - Naming each chapter after a fighting term or strategy is slowly going to drive me insane, why did I do that!?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Deep Breaths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ruby, Weiss and Ilia continue their training with varying degrees of barbed hostility, meanwhile Oscar gets to trade his dignity to the humiliating fate of showing Yang and Blake his current living conditions...</p><p>... but an idea for change sparks in a certain Blonde Bombshell's head.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ugh this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ruby proclaimed as she slid into a clean dry-fit tee before slamming her locker door shut. She stomps sullenly over to the bench beside her teammate Weiss and flops down onto the familiar lacquered wood with all the dramatic flourish of a fifth-grade stage play, which in turn causes the ivory-haired fighter beside her to grin in spite of her rolling eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry that helping me train for my fight is such a burden on you, dolt” Weiss manages to grumble without chuckling as she laces up her sneakers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ruby spins on the bench, finger pointing accusingly at her friend’s nose but quickly getting swatted away before she could - as a certain ginger-headed upcoming opponent would say - </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘boop’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>her on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That isn’t what I mean and you know it, Weissy!” Despite being an adult, who paid taxes, has a career and everything, the dark-haired fighter’s voice register could crack reinforced glass when she got her whine on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she currently was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then do tell me what you mean, Taiyang made it clear that my training was to take no detours for any reason that wasn’t an emergency,” The former heiress responds haughtily, the turning up of her nose clearly teasing and for show as she talks down to the younger fighter, “you and Ilia have the distinction of being in charge of my conditioning program and that fell on today, I don’t want to hear you proclaiming to the world you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored</span>
  </em>
  <span> while training with me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The younger Xiao Long-Rose sister could sometimes have a bit of trouble reading her normally stoic teammate’s attempts at teasing - being that as someone who was initially intentioned to become the CEO of a international business powerhouse would at the least be trained to have an excellent poker face and few-if-</span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> tells in the first place - and it showed as the dark-haired woman shirks at the admonishment, even having the good grace to look cowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An apology is bubbling up from the white-haired woman’s lips before the slamming of a locker door cuts her off and the chameleon faunus of Team XL strides into view, hands on hips and grey eyes narrowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Schnee is right, Little Red. Sucks to admit but you and I have a job to do, so quit whining about not getting to fling yourself at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>yokel</span>
  </em>
  <span> and let’s get this over with” Without so much as registering the blushing glare Ruby levels at her in embarrassed anger, Ilia swivels on her heel and pushes her way out to the gym proper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t throwing myself at him…” Ruby pouts to her friend as the two women stand up and follow their faunus teammate out to the training floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Were you going to?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Weiss jibes, a light grin on her face counter-acting that small, familiar pang of longing that accompanies it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to answer that!” The younger Xiao Long-Rose sister declares in a booming voice as they make their way over to where Ilia had set up several weighted sleds for the three of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ilia for her part looked sullen, angry, and the duo knew exactly why, or who in this case. The other faunus member of Team XL was also notably absent for the afternoon, having left with Yang and Oscar to drop the poor lad off after Ruby’s elder sister very nearly assaulted him. The chameleon faunus had a near insufferable </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother hen</span>
  </em>
  <span> vibe regarding her feline friend at the best of time, especially when they were surrounded on all sides by what they saw as a human-heavy society like Vale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet with Blake out of sight, alone, with someone as boisterous and flirtatious as Yang Xiao Long, as well as the totally unknown quotient of the former farmhand they were driving home, Ilia almost glowed with frustration and distrust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weiss would be loath to admit it to anybody, but there was a huge part of her that was thankful the live sparring portion of her daily training had been completed in the morning. Ilia didn’t take it easy on her by any means, but in her current headspace she’d be downright vicious towards her, training be damned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yang’s probably not going to embarrass you too much talking to Oscar, Ruby,” The tone of the former heiress’ voice was flat and dull, clearly not believing the words that were coming out of her own mouth, “probably just a few puns, an apology, hand him money for the shirt-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Threaten to beat him to within an inch of his life if he ever dares look at you again” Ilia chirps, her voice a cheerful falsetto that was totally offset by the cruel amusement dancing in her smirk. A smirk that spread even wider as she saw the younger Xiao Long-Rose sister’s shoulders slump.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weiss cuts the chameleon faunus a severe look that goes ignored before she grins inwardly, “It’s not like Yang’s going to hit on the poor lad and take him away from you, Ruby... she has Blake there for that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even Ruby feels the temperature in the room grow colder at that inciting remark, her breath catches and she awaits the oncoming physical altercation her white-haired friend might have sparked with their teammate. After a prolonged pause, the sound of Ilia’s angry curse and then her shuffling past the duo, legs pumping as she pushes the weighted sled across the floor and puts some distance between herself and her two human teammates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weiss exhales a slow, relieved breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The white-haired fighter had definitely intended to stoke Ilia’s ire, and that comment certainly did the trick, but it was a fine line between pissing someone of Amitola’s nature off, and having her so mad she’d attack you physically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have said that…” Ruby says, her voice carrying a slight tone of admonishment that Weiss lets bounce off of her harmlessly while she wanders over to the extra plates for their sleds and start to load theirs up with the extra kilograms, “... I mean, I told you Ilia and I managed to apologize to each other over the whole… </span>
  <b>
    <em>housepet</em>
  </b>
  <span> fiasco, right? She was probably just teasing”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Teasing? No... she was being Ilia, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The former heiress states firmly, grunting as she secures an additional twenty-five kilograms to her sled, “and I was trying to assure you - even jokingly - that Yang isn’t the type to run off your boytoy”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a small moment of satisfaction that sparks in Weiss’ chest as she manages to move her head out of the way of the water bottle her friend just threw at her, but it’s quickly washed over with equal parts amusement and concern as she sees the silver-eyed woman’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>near-weaponized</span>
  </em>
  <span> pout. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be dramatic Ruby…” Weiss sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Firstly, Oscar is </span>
  <b>not</b>
  <span> my boytoy! He’s just cute, and sweet and… a-anyways!” Ruby slaps her cheeks with both hands as though under the delusion that it would dispel the cherry-like hue that coated them, “SECONDLY, when I was ten, Yang totally stole away my middle school <em>fiancé</em>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fiancé?” Weiss’ brow arches in equal measures of alarm and incredulity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were to be wed over by the swingset at Signal Middle School that Thursday!” Ruby states solemnly, her bottom lip quivering in such a way that Weiss simply wasn’t able to tell if the action was being dramatically feigned or disturbingly legitimate, “Then Yang, the homewrecker she is, swooped in and stole his heart! I’ve been traumatized ever since, staring out to sea forlornly considering the possibilities of the love I’ve lost…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ruby?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... oh, a spinster at age ten! Gaze not upon my loveless, hollowed-out husk. I am but a humble warning to those on the path to love, don’t repeat my mistakes. Carpe Diem and all th-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“RUBY!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah Weiss?” Ruby asks, slightly startled at the rare, commanding appearance that was the former heiress’ classically trained voice shouting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do shut up and start pushing your sled” Weiss grins before grasping the handles of her own and heaving her weight against it to start her momentum. Her pale, formerly slender legs now thick and cut with defined muscle as they start to churn and strain with the effort as she leaves the silver-eyed girl behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Oscar will come back? I forgot to give him my nu-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>RUBY!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I got it” The younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>______________________</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar stood between the boisterous blonde who - a mere hour ago - had seemed poised to beat him to death over a t-shirt, and a cat faunus whose switch to polite stoicism to maniacal laughter in the lobby of an MMA gym was so sudden it had nearly given him whiplash. Not that he suspected they might mean him harm, that is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, after watching the seemingly indefatigable Yang Xiao Long get verbally thrashed and admonished by both her father and sister - the latter of whose appearance was a welcome check mark in the rarely visited </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘win’</span>
  </em>
  <span> column of his life lately - he felt the playing field had levelled out. The reticence and hesitation he expected to hound him for the rest of his time keeping the company of any of the Team XL members simply wasn’t there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that Yang felt badly enough about her behavior to not only pay six-hundred Lien for the shirt she destroyed, but also to give him a drive home and grab him a bite to eat along the way was just a bonus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, now he had to live with the fact that both Yang Xiao Long and the cat faunus who’d flatly told him her name was Blake during the drive knew that he lived in-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This place is a fucking tragedy in twelve stories…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a solid descriptor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you believe me if I said it's nicer inside?” Oscar defends, but even he can hear the undercurrent of sarcasm in his own voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No” both women state simultaneously, blonde and black hair shifting as the pair of professional MMA fighters stare up at the building and Oscar can swear he </span>
  <em>
    <span>sees</span>
  </em>
  <span> the revulsion pouring off the two of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s… that’s fair” He finishes lamely, shoulders slumping with the shame that for months he’d been forced to call this place home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How much did you say rent costs here?” Yang’s voice is tinged with sympathy and that makes her question sting all the worse. If Oscar still believed he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>capable</span>
  </em>
  <span> of pride after the past several months he might have even felt insulted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, riding the ragged edge of starvation and homelessness had nipped that detail in the bud months prior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Four hundred monthly, I cover my own laundry” The former farmhand sighs. It sounds horrible to hear out loud, even in his own dejected tone, but it was simply something he’d had to come to terms with when he’d first moved to the city.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get that city living is far more expensive,” Yang mumbles more to herself than anything, “but </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span> this place is…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The normally boisterous blonde leaves the words unspoken, but it doesn’t need to be said when her lilac eyes and the straight line of her mouth have said enough. Everything low enough on the mint-colored building able to be spray-painted <em>has</em> been spray painted, tags and marks from the rolling plethora of gangs and start-ups hoping to one day </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> gangs. There are marks and lines across the walls that alternate between being dirt and being actual, </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal</span>
  </em>
  <span> scorch marks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are even a few off-color patch jobs that mend literal, no-bullshit </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullet holes</span>
  </em>
  <span> near the main foyer entrance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Home sweet home’ Oscar thinks sarcastically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, s-so thanks for the ride and-” The farmhand starts, trying to give both women an out, or in this case, a hint to let him wallow in his misery alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem!” Yang interjects, flashing him a toothy smile that just simply doesn’t reach her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oscar” It’s the first time Blake’s spoken the young man’s name since introducing herself in the car and he turns to address the faunus woman, her near-predatory amber eyes intense enough to make him flinch internally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“U-uh… yeah?” He offers lamely, internally cursing himself for feeling like a deer in headlights under the dark-haired woman’s gaze. He had nothing against the faunus, even though he’d been raised in an area where there simply weren’t any of the human-animal hybrids, and even though some of the more worldly members of the farming community certainly had nothing but scorn for them, it hadn’t washed off on the former farmhand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No faunus had ever done him wrong, by and large he actually found them to be shockingly banal and normal, just with a few extra parts on their bodies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So why did this cat faunus </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimidate</span>
  </em>
  <span> him with a stare?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a friend around here that I’ve really been meaning to see,” The curious look Blake draws from her blonde team member probably looks very much like the one Oscar’s certain he’s levelling at her, “if you wouldn’t mind giving Yang </span>
  <b>
    <em>the tour</em>
  </b>
  <span> here, I’ll be back by the car in about twenty minutes”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar drags his gaze between the two women, Yang plainly wanting to object at the mere mention of them splitting up in this literal slum, but the dark-haired faunus stalls her teammate with a smirk, cutting the lilac-eyed woman’s protestations short.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Twenty minutes, Yang, can you stay out of trouble </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> long?” She asks, her voice lilting with a teasing tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yang CAN stay out of trouble that <em>Xiao Long</em>,” The blonde retorts with a grin of her own as Blake groans at the awful name-based pun, “go say hi to your friend”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that Blake nods and starts walking down the road, pace brisk as she doesn’t look back to where Oscar and Yang stand at a loss as to the faunus woman’s intentions. After a moment Yang turns to give the former farmhand a grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just you and me for the moment Oscar!” She winks, “Any sights worth seeing… uh… here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in luck,” Oscar confirms in a droll voice as he starts to lead the boisterous blonde fighter into the crumbling apartment complex, “at about five in the afternoon we might get to see a cluster of feral smack addicts make the arduous journey to the local pawn shop to fence stolen goods and family heirlooms”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like date material, I should have talked my dad into letting Ruby be the one to drop you off!” Yang sighs in a wistful tone, which turns into a chuckle as Oscar nearly trips into the door before yanking it open and holding it for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t…” The dark-haired man starts, his tanned cheeks flushing ever darker with his embarrassment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you totally do,” Yang cuts him short with a laugh, “don’t worry, I’m not here to do the big sister riot act routine yet. You have to actually make a move after all and - if I’m completely honest - your dating life is like a distant second or third in concerns right now”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate how true that is” Oscar states flatly as the powerful MMA fighter stalks behind him, carefully staying out of his periphery so he doesn’t have to bear any added humiliation from her disgusted expression at the absolute squalor he lives in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bypasses the elevator and can hear the blonde woman’s steps slow behind him, “I don’t think they’ve worked since I moved in” he states blandly in regards to the lift and hears her heavy footsteps behind him catch up as he rounds a corner and stops in front of a metal door, the number </span>
  <b>
    <em>‘02’</em>
  </b>
  <span> in embossed, faux-gold metal plates on the door screwed in just below the peephole before reaching out and knocking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got roommates?” Yang asks as they hear muffled and cursing from behind the barrier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar shakes his head no “This is the landlord,” He quickly pulls the bills Yang had given him for the shirt and peels off the exact amount before stuffing the extra cash back into his pocket, no doubt not wanting to let anyone - even the landlord - know that he had anything more than his rent on him, “he’s a prick so just don’t get pissed off by anything he says…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opens a moment later to reveal a slovenly middle-aged man, the scent of body odor, stale beer and vomit sticking to him like a cloud and Oscar can see from the corner of his eye that Yang literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>winces</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the wall of nasal punishment hitting her. It takes a moment for the landlord to realize the former farmhand is even there as he makes a full show of leering at the impossibly beautiful blonde standing to his left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you might be out of my price range, darling” The man drawls in a whisky-soaked growl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my fuck’ Are the only words that flash across Oscar’s mind, the rest of his brainpower flashing through all the metaphorical highlights of the near certain violent murder the fat, slovenly idiot before him might just suffer at the hands of Yang Xiao Long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Undoubtedly!” Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the response Oscar expects to hear, but it’s the one Yang gives before nodding towards where he stands, mollified, “My friend Oscar here has this month’s rent money for you though!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The beady eyes of his landlord turn to him, narrowing with an element of suspicion as he glares down at the shirking young man, “Goddamn Pine, I didn’t think I was getting rent from you ever again and you’re bringing trim like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> home!? Did you rob a bank?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got lucky on a scratch ticket” Oscar offers flatly as the Lien gets shoved into the disgusting man’s filth-encrusted hands. From the corner of his eye he sees that despite the visible anger in Yang’s eyes, she’s still wearing a smile… and not beating the man before them into a coma, so y'know, <em>bonus.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How much did you win?” The landlord wonders and Oscar feels his stomach drop at the inquiry. He’d held suspicions almost immediately upon meeting his landlord that he was unscrupulous, and over his tenancy he fully realized the man before him undoubtedly had fingers in multiple </span>
  <em>
    <span>less-than-reputable</span>
  </em>
  <span> pies. If he believed Oscar had something of worth, it was next to nothing to his landlord to break into his apartment and steal it, or higher someone even less reputable to do so on his behalf.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five hundred,” Oscar sniffs, struggling to keep his tone and expression neutral, “the rest is groceries for the month”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The landlord’s skeezy gaze drifts back over to Yang, whose sweet grin is betrayed by the clenching of her jaw, “Bullshit kid, you couldn’t get a gal like this to give you her </span>
  <em>
    <span>name </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a hundred Lien”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Probably because I’m his friend, not a hooker,” Yang laughs and of the three of them, only the landlord seems to realize it isn’t forced and hollow, “if Oscar here won real money, you probably wouldn’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> this month’s rent! Me and my Pine-Snookums here-” the young farmhand manages to strangle down the choking laugh that threatened to erupt from him at that nickname “-would already be halfway to Vacuo with visions of liquor and slot machines by now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> earns a chuckle from the landlord, and while it sounds far more legitimate than Yang’s earlier guffaw, it’s obviously tinged with a tad too much force before he gives Oscar a nod, “Well good on you for keeping your head above water another month, Farmboy! If you don’t mind, I have far less reputable company than blondie over and I’d like to get back to disappointing her”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t wait for Oscar or Yang to respond and instead shuts the door in their faces. A moment goes by as the duo listen to several locks sliding shut on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of stomping and cursing signalling that the landlord wasn’t observing them from the other side of the entrance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am simultaneously pissed and disgusted right now…” It escapes Yang’s mouth in a drawn out sigh, “... it’s a great thing Blake went to see her friend, if she came in here I think her nose would have leapt off her face in revolt”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Oscar felt his body start to visibly shirk as he turned and made his way over to the staircase, he fought the reflex down even as the wafting scent of piss and despair hit him while he held the door open for Yang to make it through. “I am increasingly glad your father made your sis keep training instead of coming with us. I’ve sort of become numb to how bad this building is and… yeah, I’m getting reminded of it now”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No need to be sorry for doing what you need to survive,” Yang responds candidly even as the disgusting scent of the staircase basically slaps her across the face and she started bounding up them two at a time, “beats being homeless, and you’re obviously trying to get in a better place”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trying and succeeding are two different things - fifth floor, by the way,” He huffs as he tries to keep pace with the professional fighter as she glides effortlessly up the stories, “who knew that almost twenty years of constant fourteen-hour days working myself to the bone trying to grow crops and raise livestock just doesn’t translate to city life?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That earns a bark of laughter from the blonde woman ahead of him just before she rounds the bannister past the third floor door and disappears from sight, obviously faster than he would ever imagine he could be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trying matters,” Yang calls, her breath annoyingly even even as it sounds further away from him by the second, “besides, there’s gotta be work out there for someone that can go that hard for that long every day”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s… called dock work,” Oscar rasps out, noting that the sound of the fighter’s footsteps have ceased, likely because she’s already standing at the entry for the fifth floor, waiting for him to catch up, “or factory work, or any other number of places that are laying manual labor off in droves the closer we get to fall”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guess it’s just a sign of the times,” Yang drawls, a tone of disappointment in her voice, “with fall soon to roll in and that SDC deal supposedly falling through at the Winchester's docks, most manual labor jobs these days pretend they’re seasonal just so they don’t have to shell out for benefits or hand out minimum hours”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... I went to a small school out in the farmlands and never got my high school diploma, can you repeat that… in bumpkin” The former farmhand gasps as he starts on the last flight to his floor, only vaguely hearing Yang chuckle at his comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It means ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>work hard, get fucked’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The blonde fighter returns as his eyes crest the lip of the stairs to find that Yang is leaning against the entrance to his floor, arms crossed and sardonic smirk on her lips as he finally comes to stand beside her, trying really hard to not let on how winded he was and hoping the beads of sweat forming on his brow aren’t as visible as he suspects they are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elder Xiao Long-Rose sister looks like she could sprint the remainder of the building six or seven times without even becoming flushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… fourteen hour work days on that farm, huh ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lungs’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go fuck yourself!” Pine snaps back, but there’s no bite to it as he fails to suppress his chuckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang holds the door open for the young brunette man this time and he leads the way to his apartment, right as his keys hit the lock the thought suddenly strikes him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘My place is a shit pit…’ The thought lances through any specter of self confidence he may have once had, and while Yang was just being courteous and his own personal interest beyond friendship lay in the bombastic blonde’s younger sister and not Yang herself, the simple fact remained that another <em>living person</em> was going to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> his living situation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuuuuuuuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He rasps out, letting his forehead thud against his front door as he anticipates the next wave of humiliation to hit him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it? Break the key?” Lilac eyes regard him with open concern and he shakes his head in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No just… uh” Oscar sighs, “don’t suppose it’s been twenty minutes since your friend there left us, has it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Despite your best efforts to crawl slowly up five flights of stairs? No, no it hasn’t” She smirks sarcastically, which then drops into a softer expression when she notes the drop in the young man’s shoulders, “did you leave porn mags or an inflatable sex doll out in the open or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well n- <strong>WHAT?</strong>” Oscar nearly shouts as he processes the question the fighter poses to him, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment while the blonde snort-laughs at his humiliation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Relax Oscar, I’m not expecting golden archways, loungewear and thousand Lien doormats, this is what you can afford right now,” Yang pauses a moment before giving a simple shrug and a laugh, “besides, I saw no less than three heroin needles in the first floor hallway on the way here, what could you possibly do to top that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rather than respond Oscar twists his key in the lock and shoves it open, the laugh dies in Xiao Long’s throat leaving only silence as the unoiled hinges of the frame whine loudly at the fact they’re being forced to do their job, and unveiling the darkness of the apartment beyond it’s threshold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once the door was fully open and the squeak of the hinges dies off, another softer, </span>
  <em>
    <span>subtler</span>
  </em>
  <span> and altogether more unsettling sound made the seemingly unflappable blonde beside him shiver, the sound of way too many tiny legs moving across linoleum and cheap tile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Oscar, is this the part where you reveal you’re a serial killer and your method of disposing of the bodies is whatever the fuck is making that noise?!” Despite the obvious discomfort-bordering-on-fear expression gracing her face, her delivery of the question is somehow delivered in a deadpan tone as she turns to face the young farmhand, “Because if the answer’s yes, let me assure you Blake will call the cops </span>
  <b>
    <em>looooooooong</em>
  </b>
  <span> before she steps foot into this place alone”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If this were a conversation happening at someone else’s expense, Oscar might have laughed. Unfortunately this wasn’t a funny anecdote concerning someone else, or a scene from a film, or even a passage from one of the shitty dimestore novellas his aunt had </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘gifted’</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was, in fact, his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘And it seems determined to fuck me every step of the way’ His internal monologue states with a sigh as he reaches into the dark apartment and flicks his lights on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment the cheap fluorescent bulb bathes his entryway and kitchen in light is the same moment both Oscar and Yang get to bear witness to several dark objects rapidly scuttling their way under the counters of the kitchen and out of sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obviously, the fact they were out of sight now did little to quell the spiking anxiety between the two that they were there to begin with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... say hello to the housepets” Oscar drones before stepping into his apartment, having long ago accepted the hot-and-cold running roaches as a way of life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me you didn’t name them” Yang scoffs, trying and failing to apply a disaffected tone to mask her disgust and horror at the literal infestation the former farmhand lives in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Had to move to a numbering system, apparently we humans are incredibly inconsiderate and only spat out twenty-six letters to our alphabet” Oscar leans his hip against the countertop right beside his dodgy refrigerator, eyes turning to Yang who still stood in the doorway, looking inside with an expression that clearly read that she was expecting a masked killer to leap out at her with machete in hand, she looks between the frame she's standing in and the former farmhand before giving the young man a wince that clearly stated her intentions were to remain right where she was,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... no offense Oscar”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None taken, seriously,” He means it too, Yang is not the person here that feels like they want the floor to open up and drop him into the abyss out of embarrassment, “uh… welcome to Casa De Pine, I’d offer you a drink but I don’t have anything to offer except water… and the jury is still out on if that’s safe…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Literally, building inspectors had supposedly tested it the other month, but if they weren’t going to condemn the building itself at a glance, <strong>period</strong>, then Oscar figured it was also highly unlikely for them to try and start holding his landlord to any sort of standard now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang, to her credit tries to play it off with a forced laugh, “On the plus side Oscar, I’m told you can’t taste botulism”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Score! Also I have no idea what botulism is…” Oscar trails off, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment again that the admission he'd just revealed made him look like even more of a podunk hick than he already did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s, uh… it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not good</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Yang trails off, scratching the back of her own head sheepishly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what it is either, do you?” He returns, a smirk on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey now!” Yang defends, holding her hands out in front of her in a boxer’s stance, “I’m a fighter, not a thinker, I have an excuse!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that the two start laughing before drifting off into silence, the buzz of the fluorescent lighting and the occasional shuffle of tiny insect feet standing out in the hollow, empty nothing of the apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After about a minute, Oscar sees Yang check her scroll for the time, the soft huff of breath she lets escape indicates that not enough time has passed for her to politely excuse herself and he feels a slight spike of guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to stay here for twenty minutes or anything on my behalf Yang” Oscar states, trying to give the blonde an out she really doesn’t actually need.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I can either hang out with you, or stand awkwardly by my car until Blake comes back” The blonde replies easily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True,” He nods, “but your car has music, air conditioning, reliable heating… and I’d bet there’s no uninvited pets in it either”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This earns a chuckle, though it seems forced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously Yang, you paid me for a cheap t-shirt, fed me and drove me home, got sexually harassed by my landlord, listened to me whine about my job finding woes, and then got to witness what I presume from your reaction will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>THE</span>
  </em>
  <span> starring attraction in all of your future nightmares this month skitter around my kitchen, if you’re feeling bad about earlier at the gym, just… don’t, we’re far beyond even now”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar nods at the blonde then, almost willing her to go, but the blonde instead crosses her arms over her chest, chewing her bottom lip as she mulls over a response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trust me Oscar, I stopped feeling bad about knocking you on your ass because of my anger issues the moment I put six hundred Lien in your hand,” Yang tongues the inside of her cheek, “as much as you might hate it though, or that it might wound your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile male ego</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what I DO feel bad about right now is the fact that you - a seemingly decent person - live like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <b>Ouch</b>
  <span>’ Oscar flinches visibly, but Yang keeps on rolling with her thoughts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“I can tell that nobody ever in your life prepared you for anything but farming, let alone what shit’s like here in the big city, and it’s all but guaranteed that if you’re not homeless next month, you might be homeless the month after, or working like three part time jobs just to maintain… well… </span><em><span>this…”</span></em><span> Yang gesticulates to the apartment in all it’s drab, slummy appeal, “so yeah, Oscar, I </span><b><em>do</em></b> <span>feel bad. Hell if Ruby were here she’d be on the phone with dad trying to convince him that they can </span><em><span>keep you</span></em><span>”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh-what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don’t let Ruby go into pet stores anymore since the… incident” Yang winces and trails off, the prospect of finding out about what </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> story entails distracts from Oscar’s own racing thoughts for about a nanosecond before he snaps back to the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Yang, that isn’t exactly the uplifting, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>go-get-’em’</span>
  </em>
  <span> pump-up speech I was hoping for,” Oscar hears the chuckle escape him, but winces at the fragmented cracks that gravel his own voice, “aren’t you supposed to tell me I can do it? Or if I keep plugging away I’ll get an opportunity? Or literally anything that doesn’t make me want to commit a twelve story </span>
  <em>
    <span>short term eviction</span>
  </em>
  <span> off the top of this hovel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hence the feeling bad, Oscar… this sucks…” Yang grumbles in agreeance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oscar for his part is now running frustrated hands over his face, through his oily, unkempt hair and down his tense neck before running them back, he feels his voice come out in a tone he doesn’t recognize, but if he had to try and identify it, it sounded like defeat, “I’ve been trying so goddamn hard just to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>this…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It sounded pitiful, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> pitiful, and weak, and any number of other negative connotations associated with a person airing out their frustrations so honestly, and he hates that fact too, but right now he just needs to at least get it out there. At least for tonight, tomorrow when he wakes up bright and early, with another month-long countdown timer to his impending homelessness, he’d be strong again, self-assured, and prepared to search for work, going block-by-block, street-by-street until he found something better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If the worst thing he needed to do before then was get the despair out, then didn’t the world owe him at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>that much?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Oscar, hand me your scroll,” Yang’s voice cuts through his thoughts in that moment, even though her tone is oddly soft compared to her normal demeanor, “I got an idea and I’ll get in contact with you once I talk with Ruby about it”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that Oscar sends a glare towards the blonde woman, “Are you fucking kidding me? I thought I stated I’m absolutely against Ruby knowing I live in a crack den”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well the way I see it, either I tell my sis and we brainstorm a solution to get you out of this mess,” The fighter holds her hand out, patiently waiting for the former farmhand to offer her his scroll, “</span>
  <b>ooooor</b>
  <span> you continue to live here, broke, and any chance of asking her on a date goes up in smoke”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brunette man gives her hand a cautious look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... I find it odd that you’re really cool with a near-vagrant from the sticks finding your sister attractive” He ventures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her immediate response is a short bark of laughter, “I wouldn’t be if she didn’t seem just as interested. Best case scenario is you’re as nice as I think you are and the two of you go together like peanut butter and jelly,” lilac eyes tint darker with the promise of something far more violent, “worst case scenario? I get to beat you to death, or my dad does, or uncle Qrow does, or Ruby… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh! Or</span>
  </em>
  <span> Weissicle - the white-haired woman you saw there - she’d rip your limbs off, dip you in honey and throw you on an anthill to d-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brothers! I </span>
  <b>
    <em>get it!"</em>
  </b>
  <span> Oscar snaps before tossing his scroll into the blonde’s waiting hand. He watches her open the messaging system he’d had no cause to use since he first got the device and punches something in, her tongue hanging out of the corner of her mouth as she does so, “So what is your plan and why do you need Ruby to do it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t give you details just yet but…” With a flourish the Team XL stalwart presses send, a mere second later and Oscar can vaguely hear the vibration of Yang’s own scroll in her pocket, “for my plan to succeed, we need someone pouty, whiney and obstinate, Ruby’s an ace-in-the-hole at all three!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This tears a chuckle from Oscar as the blonde tosses his scroll back to him, he checks the time and realizes that the feline faunus that had accompanied the duo there must have been back to the car by now, if not well on her way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Time’s up, want to say goodbye to the roaches? I’m sure they’ll miss the feminine touch you brought to this place” He jabs, a grin on his face that really didn’t feel like making a difference in his heart or his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss McRoachendail the Third, most of all,” the blonde calls out in a faux-sing-song declaration before winking at the former farmhand, “I’m not going to try and get your hopes up Oscar, just… keep job hunting, but keep your ringer on for the next week, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man nods and the two part with a mutual wave. A part of him wanting to follow her out for two reasons, firstly to see that she made it back to her car okay, and secondly because for the first time since moving to the City of Vale, it felt suspiciously like he’d finally made a friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chokes the urge to follow into submission though, both because he doesn’t want to be clingy, and because he knows for a fact that Yang Xiao Long was the type of person who could beat the crap out of roughly ninety-five percent of the population.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>With that thought, he closes his door and latches it shut… then after an extra moment’s consideration he grabs the rusted ironing board he’s kept stored as a makeshift collapsible table in the corner of his living room, and wedges it underneath the door handle to keep any of the more </span>
  <em>
    <span>persistent</span>
  </em>
  <span> unwanted guests out of his home, regardless of whether or not his landlord believed his claim about a small scratch ticket win, it was better safe than getting strong armed in the middle of the night.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy shit this took awhile, and I'm sorry it took awhile, especially because I've managed to throw out two chapters on my other fic while struggling with this one for reasons that elude me. If it seems odd to dabble with multiple fics at once, I quite enjoy having an alternate project or projects to jump into when I get stuck on one, it's something I learned from online RPing for years.</p><p>Also, any other writers out there get about ten other ideas for stories when all they want to do is work on the ones they're currently producing? It's infuriating.</p><p>That said, some things in this chapter definitely changed from how I originally planned them, but for the better, especially after talking with the GF about them, and it's going to allow me to play around a bit more with Faunus traits and how they would have likely affected a sport like MMA during the sport's development, so I'm really looking forward to that.</p><p>Some readers may have also noticed my aversion to naming OCs and keeping their involvement in the story strictly vague and matter-of-factual, and the fact of the matter is that RWBY is a property with a MESS of characters, a lot of them vastly underutilized in canon because trying to develop them all would make each season approximately 90 episodes apiece, I find that if you need a character in a clutch position for a fanfic, there's a lot to choose from in the RWBY property, chucking named OCs at it has always kind of seemed pointless to me.</p><p>This is not to say I hate OCs, or that I wouldn't jump on the chance to enter my ideas for some into an official Rooster Teeth contest to get them in the show, just... I dunno, in fanfiction, it always kind of irked me.</p><p>Hence, why the landlord is simply referred to as a landlord, and not Grassberry Butternut-Squashington.</p><p>6 AM rambling done, with that said I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always comments, constructive criticism and kudos are appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Along The Fence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What Blake got up to while Yang got to see first hand how Oscar lives.</p><p>Later that day, Ruby ruminates on the difficulties her family had faced in the past and present, until a call from Yang draws her attention to plans for the immediate future.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She separates from Yang and Oscar, leaving the duo to take a tour of the decrepit, multi-story apartment complex, without looking back. Her hands in her pockets, hood pulled up to cover her feline set of ears and her head down, a typical look within the seedier environments of the world - she’d found - and even a city as progressive and clean as Vale had it’s scummy areas, this was certainly one such place.</p><p> </p><p>So she takes the effort to blend right in.</p><p> </p><p>She can vaguely hear the exchange between her Team XL teammate and the farm boy she’d met for the first time a mere hour ago, the words and their meanings lost to perception as she puts some distance between them, as well as the hurried rustle of the wind rushing between the building and the plethora of others just like it lining the street.</p><p> </p><p>A few more seconds and she can hear the telltale echo of Yang’s heavy gait outside of an MMA context - a strange counterpoint to how fleet-of-foot the boisterous blonde was during training - following Oscar inside the building for what she had no doubt be an enlightening - and disturbing - tour.</p><p> </p><p>Blake lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’s holding the moment she hears the sound of the building’s door closing behind them. The tenseness in her neck and shoulders slackening until she looks natural to the naked eye.</p><p> </p><p>‘Now I can blend right in’ The feline faunus thinks as she paces the street along the side of the apartment complex.</p><p> </p><p>Now she wasn’t a stranger, she wasn’t a faunus there with a tenant and a friend, and she <b>certainly</b> wasn’t internationally known Mixed-Martial-Artists Blake Belladonna, now she was <em> nothing </em>, a part of the scenery, to be passed over and disregarded.</p><p> </p><p>There were advantages she well knew from blending into her surroundings. Advantages she’d taken great efforts over the years to utilize with care, be it getting away from venues and the press without drawing attention after… difficult times and scandals at her previous Fight Team, to simply managing to enjoy time to herself out in public.</p><p> </p><p>It was how she’d managed to get time away from <b> <em>him</em> </b> for all those years, how she managed to occasionally break away from his grasp, his demands during training, his expectations at home and his words to the media regarding her abilities and next steps, to simply roam free - if only for a few hours at a time - and live the lie of freedom, stress and expectation free.</p><p> </p><p>Ilia would often joke that those same excursions, which would often have her managers, fight coaches and <b> <em>him</em> </b> freaking out in confusion, worrying and stressed about where she was, were something of a natural extension to her fighting style, elusive and hard to pin down.</p><p> </p><p>Only this time, Blake wasn’t looking to escape for a little while. The company of Yang - and even a human stranger in this Oscar character - didn’t press on her like the expectations of Sienna Khan and the other bad memories attached to the White Fang Fight Club. Their words and open, friendly smiles didn’t raise the hair on the back of her neck and cause her breath to shorten, didn’t spike her anxiety at all the hidden and selfish possibilities behind them.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless of whether or not she trusted Yang Xiao Long to intentionally do wrong by her or not, there were simply things that Blake Belladonna <em> needed </em> to play close to her chest. Not out of spite or fear, but simply out of practised caution, ingrained in her since birth and calcified over years of experience into something far more tangible to who she was as a person.</p><p> </p><p>Faunus were different from humanity, and that difference, that mild gap on even the slightest level, has done massive damage to both species at varying points throughout recorded history. It was an inalienable fact that was taught to both species in school, the difference often being how certain events were framed, or - in cases of less accepting nations such as Atlas and Mistral, what events were altogether omitted to make the bare necessities of such dark moments throughout history that much easier to wash down and gloss over.</p><p> </p><p>Whereas a young human in Atlas might be given the cold, detached facts about the Faunus March for Equality in Argus, the number of participants, the human sympathizers that garnered national attention, and the effects it had afterwards, a faunus child in Menagerie was taught the mortal cost, of how Atlesian Military Units deployed riot-busters that beat peaceful protesters to death, of how there were multiple recorded accounts of human crowd plants wearing fake ears and tails specifically to start riots and undermine the whole protest.</p><p> </p><p>Humanity was taught that the problems had been solved.</p><p> </p><p>Faunus were taught that until those omissions in human learning were addressed, there would be no solution.</p><p> </p><p>From a young age, it taught Blake - and every other faunus that she had ever known - that even the most accepting and humble of humanity were not to be fully trusted. That there were secrets that simply needed to be kept from them, be they friends, lovers or even family.</p><p> </p><p>Countless faunus lives had been lost just because of a pair of fuzzy ears, a tail, or retractable claws. Humanity didn’t need more ammunition to levy against them, however misplaced and ignorant that ammunition was to be used, they didn’t need to know the little differences, or to what degree those differences made them from the average human.</p><p> </p><p>Case in point, during the last Great War, when Atlesian Intelligence learned of certain Faunus type’s stellar night vision, thousands got conscripted into a war they didn’t believe in the following weeks and months after to serve as scouts, causing not just more deaths in battle, but also in the deaths numbering in the thousands post-war by angry human veterans who felt slighted by faunus involvement, leading to a deluge of revenge killings and race-cleansings in smaller towns and villages that Blake sincerely doubted ever made it into a human history books.</p><p> </p><p>It was still seen as the harshest lesson that her species has ever had to learn in regards to who and what they are, the flagpole for why <em> every </em> faunus was taught that there was a line in regards to revealing too much about who they were, not just for their own good, but for the good of their own kind as well, and it was something Blake Belladonna and every other single faunus she had or ever would meet would adhere to with unwavering loyalty, be they a Vacuoan nomad all the way to an Atlesian military specialist.</p><p> </p><p>A lesson taught and learned that very much defined who every faunus was, just as much as their animal trait.</p><p> </p><p>Blake knew that a human looking at her would know and identify her by her ears, two fuzzy protrusions from the top of her head that could - and often did - blend in seamlessly with her long dark tresses of hair. An observant or well-read human looking at her could likely also read between the lines of history and a base-knowledge of felines to deduce that her bright, amber eyes were capable of nocturnal vision.</p><p> </p><p>Which meant that at a glance, someone like Yang Xiao Long would know or suspect that she could <em> hear </em> and <em> see </em> better than most.</p><p> </p><p>What no human knew though was to what extent Blake’s ears allowed her to delineate the noise around her. They didn’t know that in a quiet room Blake could literally hear a racing pulse, or could pick out the minute octave changes in a person’s voice that would help her determine whether or not another person was lying. They didn’t know that most faunus with ear-traits went through great pains to install sound dampeners in their homes when they moved to the city just so they could get a restful night’s sleep, or that most faunus that learned how to drive simply had to deal with a mild headache during every commute back-and-forth to work just from the sheer, auditory miasma the average inner-city roadway was.</p><p> </p><p>What no human knew was that certain lizard-trait faunus like Ilia, whose trait encompassed their entire body, would molt as they aged, allowing the composition of simple fingerprints to change and alter until they matured, lest more ignorant human detractors try making a case that a young faunus with such a trait would be more inclined to petty theft since they were more likely to get away with it.</p><p> </p><p>And what no human knew, in regards to Blake Belladonna personally, was that she possessed not just the eyes and ears, but the nose of her trait-sake, able to pick up scents that couldn’t be perceived by any human. Able to identify everyone she’d ever met by the subtle differences and nuances between them.</p><p> </p><p>The sense of smell was currently the whole reason why Blake was now walking around the apartment complex of a complete stranger, not because of a local friend that frankly didn’t exist, and not because of a familiar scent that was drawing her near, but because of a smell that wasn’t natural. One that pricked at her senses and logic, one that reminded her of a day long ago, and the wisdom imparted to her by her father back on the island of Menagerie.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Why is it, Blake, that despite being governed solely by a people that haven’t had the luxury of governing themselves very long...“ Amber eyes, so similar to her own, stare down at her fondly, the deep, rumbling voice of her father wrapping around her twelve year olf mind like a security blanket, “... has managed to avoid the many pitfalls of human society?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>From the second she stepped out of Yang’s car, the smell of ammonia assaulted her nose, bitter and far stronger than it has any right to be. It invaded her senses and stung at her nose.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know, dad” Blake recalls responding, her voice higher and brighter than it would become. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She keeps her eyes down, but tracks the scent, picking up the accompanying smell of ether. Humans would think it smells of rotten eggs and cat piss, most wouldn’t think anything further beyond that. Given the look of the neighbourhood it wasn’t difficult to merely assume that the building was a flophouse on every level, but the manufactured nuance of synthetic compounds and chemicals burns through any passive barrier to her senses, she had suspicions the moment it whiffed across her nose.</p><p> </p><p>As she gets around the back of the building, to where several red dumpsters await garbage day to be emptied, she’s pretty much assured her suspicions are correct.</p><p> </p><p><em> “We have little beyond petty crime here, and what thefts there are tend to get sorted out without any intervention on behalf of myself or the guards,” There’s no aura of gloating in his statement, even though her father was a man worthy of the pride he holds himself, that was not the purpose of this talk, “where it concerns stuff that’s a touch more serious, human trafficking, sexual misconduct, and the production and spreading of illicit substances is all but negligible. The statistics are still there, mind you - where there’s an easy way to make money, there will </em> <b> <em>always</em> </b> <em> be someone whose constitution is weak enough to try and make it, mind you - but in the short time that we’ve been granted our very own place, away from human intervention, we’ve managed to conduct ourselves to a level that all four Kingdoms of Man couldn’t </em> <b> <em>imagine</em> </b> <em> reaching?” </em></p><p> </p><p>The operation was either recent and sloppy, or long-standing and complacent… or the far more troubling third option that was seeming more likely by the moment given that the building flagrantly called to be condemned, that the local authorities <b> <em>know</em> </b> what happens inside, but somebody high enough in Vale’s bureaucracy was protecting the illicit business happening inside for a cut of the profits.</p><p> </p><p>The contents of the garbage was almost always a tell, and the dumpster here told a lot, with its array of empty two-liter soda bottles, holes burnt through them at various points and tubes shoved through, as well as the array of lithium battery shells splayed across the ground, and lastly, the empty boxes and plastic packaging of cold medicine blown across the empty backlot by the wind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I already told you I don’t know,” She laughed then, her precocious nature drawing a smirk from the oft-serious man despite the obviously serious nature of the lesson he was trying to impart, “are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>After another second of observing the trash, she resumes walking, shoulders hunched and eyes cast down, back to being another part of the scenery. Blake worries at her own lip with her teeth, ruminating on whether or not she’s about to take too big a risk as she fiddles with the scroll in her pocket.</p><p> </p><p>This seemed too flagrantly obvious to her for it to have been missed by either the locals OR the Vale PD, but on the other hand, this wasn’t the Kennel. The people that lived around here were humans that were down on their luck, they had no reason to think that the rotten egg smell drifting down the street was anything but poorly disposed of food or a backed up sewer system.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “The reason we’re so successful at policing ourselves isn’t because we’re better people, or because we have something to prove to humanity or anything like that,” He takes a long breath, making sure to keep his daughter’s eye, as though to impress what he’s about to say unto her very soul, “the reason we have managed to do this is because of the very nature of faunus as a species. Our instincts, our traits and our connection to one another is what allows us to root out almost any societal ill before it can even take root” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Okay…” Blake’s mind was spinning, trying to frame her father’s words into something more definable, “I’m going to need more details” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The mixed-martial-artist subtly tracks her eyes around the building, head lifting just high enough to try and trace the possibilities of an AV camera or any possible security measure to keep track of curious eyes, her hand plays with the scroll in her pocket, practised thumb opening up the camera app and holding it loosely.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no foot traffic out on the streets today besides her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We share a lot more in common with the animals humans associate us with than we will ever let them know. As such a good deal of us are naturally inclined to be social with each other, and what’s more, have a driving urge to protect the whole of our society. Our treatment for thousands of years at the hands of humanity has only made that instinct go stronger, to the point where now, even if no humans are involved, the average faunus can see, identify, and root out a threat,” He scratches at his beard with large, protruding claws as he considers his next words, “our very traits aid us in this endeavor, too. It’s next to impossible to produce illicit substances on this island because it’s obvious to half of our population’s noses, and that goes the same for violent crime when the majority of Kuo Kuana’s police department can literally track by scent. How hard is it for a thief to escape into the night when a huge chunk of us can track them in the dark?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Satisfied that no one was watching her, she pulls the scroll from her pocket and thumbs the record button, keeping it held steady and low against her waist, but focused on the dumpster and trash littered around it as she walks by before turning down the adjacent street and lengthening her strides, wanting to put a bit of distance between herself and the building in case someone had indeed spotted her.</p><p> </p><p>Blake pockets the scroll after about a minute, being cautious to only slightly turn her head in either direction, the ears beneath her hood swivelling and trying to track any possible pursuers..</p><p> </p><p><em> “It sounds horrible to give even the slightest bit of credit of our pride as a race to those that enslaved and subjugated us for so long Blake, but because any literature and history of who we were as a people only goes back so far by their hand, we have to deal with the hand that humanity as a whole has dealt us, and in this case, they have galvanized us into something so strong, something they cannot break,” He clenches a large hand, fingers popping as his knuckles turn white, but the message isn’t one made in anger or defiance, but in strength, in turning something absolutely horrible into the best that it can be in this situation, “we </em> <b> <em>aren’t</em> </b> <em> just a species, my daughter, we are a society. One that has learned to look after each other no matter our traits, whose instinct has been molded to care for the whole rather than simply to look after oneself. The reason we’ve succeeded here in Menagerie, the reason we will continue to grow despite our little assigned slice of Remnant being largely uninhabitable and water locked, is because we will always, </em> <b> <em>always</em> </b> <em> think about the betterment of our people as a whole, no matter if that means defending each other from humanity, or from the actions of the selfish few, because </em> <b> <em>that</em> </b> <em> is our duty as faunus” </em></p><p> </p><p>With one last look over her shoulder, Blake slips quietly into an alley. She wanders down it a good several meters before pulling her hood back and leaning against the brick, the cool surface a relief against the anxious heat causing sweat to run down her back. She takes in several deep breaths before fishing the scroll back out of her pocket and unlocking it.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls up the gallery and thumbs the play option over the video she took moments ago, watching to make sure that what she’d observed was captured and clear.</p><p> </p><p>“... cold medicine… batteries… oh, coffee grounds,” The dark-haired faunus mumbles to herself as the twenty second clip of the dumpster rolls by, “ammonia and ether smell…”</p><p> </p><p>‘Oscar’s living above a fucking meth lab’ The thought causes the woman’s stomach to clench, remembering that she’d left both the farm boy and Yang to just walk in there. The beginning of a headache starts to throb in her temples and she rubs them with a distressed groan.</p><p> </p><p>It only takes a moment of critical thought for her to reach the conclusion that there simply wasn’t a chance in hell that Oscar had any involvement with the production of of meth, street drugs were a cash-in-hand business, and even corner dealers would have enough in pocket to live far more comfortably than he obviously did, provided they weren’t addicts themselves.</p><p> </p><p>‘And… he’s got all his teeth’ Blake’s internal monologue states in a faux-cheerful chirp that does nothing to dissuade her oncoming headache from being merciful.</p><p> </p><p>Now the only thing was… why did she care? Why <em> should </em> she care?</p><p> </p><p>This obviously wasn’t the type of neighhbourhood that her fellow faunus talked about in mockery when regarding the class schism that exists between their species and humanity, but it was - undoubtedly - a <b>human</b> neighborhood, and while Oscar seemed like a good sort of person, if a bit naive, she’d known him for roughly the same length of time as a theatrical film. She wasn’t beholden to doing right by him.</p><p> </p><p>Furthermore, what about the very real possibility that some of the Vale police force’s finest were well aware of the drug production’s existence, and very well paid to pretend they weren’t? She’d learned long ago that there was no such thing as a <em> random tip </em> where law enforcement was concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Her thumb hovers a moment over the delete button, ready to erase the existence of the video and return to the car, to await Yang, drive back to the gym and continue on with her life… but she stops and frowns.</p><p> </p><p>‘That feels wrong’ her mind screams, affirming the gnawing in her stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Meth was being produced here, at least that’s what her gut was telling her, but that didn’t mean it stayed here, limited to the neighborhood and nowhere else… it would end up somewhere in the Kennel eventually, a dealer shifting wares. The thought of a faunus not only buying, but then being arrested with drugs on them causes a burn akin to bile rise in her throat. The thought of the report making the news, the systemic issues of separating race from facts where it concerns human television, framing them all as drug-addicted criminals once again…</p><p> </p><p>“<b>Fuck!</b>” Blake growls out, her dark tresses catching along the rough brickwork as her head thuds back softly against it.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls up Sun’s number and presses the call button. Of course she had to report it, even if the drugs didn’t go anywhere near the Kennel, even if this <em> is </em> a human neighbourhood, this was still going to affect <b> <em>people</em> </b> regardless of species.</p><p> </p><p>If she lumped them all together, she’d be no better than either the humans she opposed, or the fight camp she’d left behind months ago.</p><p> </p><p>Not to mention she might as well cut ties with Team XL, and despite her and Ilia’s best attempts to keep the largely human gym at an arm’s length, she was warming up to them, one lilac-eyed blonde at a time.</p><p> </p><p>‘Think straight thoughts, Blake’ She chides herself.</p><p> </p><p>The scroll speaker crackles a moment as the Vale PD detective answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Blake, have you ever considered I’m just not that into you?” The monkey faunus’ cheerful voice teases, and a grin breaks wide across the ravenette’s face seemingly in spite of herself.</p><p> </p><p>“However will my little heart recover?” Blake snarks back without any real heat.</p><p> </p><p>“Luckily I think there’s another shredded blonde that can fill the role,” Wukong declares and Belladonna can almost picture the detective pumping his fist in the air. She has to reign in the urge to hang up as her cheeks flush red in embarrassment he can’t actually see, “Anyways, what’s up? People aren’t sending you threatening letters about leaving the WFFC again, are they?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s not that… one moment, I’m going to send you a video clip I just took, and if you say anything about sending nudes I <b>swear</b> I’ll jam my size sevens down your throat the next time I see you!” With a couple taps of her scroll’s screen she sends the video file.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay it’ll take a few seconds for my phone to load, but what am I gonna be looking at?” Sun inquires.</p><p> </p><p>“Human neighbourhood, smell of ammonia and ether and - as you’ll see in the video - garbage that all but screams this building has the entire summer collection of meth-lab chic!” Blake sighs, imagining the curious look Sun would be giving her if they were meeting in person right now, “I’m calling in an anonymous tip, Sun. One of Yang’s… acquaintances live here and I’m guessing no local faunus want to make waves because the place <em> reeks </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t my type of beat, why are you calling me with this instead of one of the tip lines?” The question isn’t framed in a dismissive way, but rather one of curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>“Because as you can see in the video Sun, this place isn’t even remotely <em> close </em> to subtle, which means the local beat either can’t find their asses with both hands… or…” Blake trails off, uncomfortable with her own insinuation.</p><p> </p><p>“Got it…” She hears Sun sigh, an oddly heavy note entering his normally upbeat demeanor, “... you’re not wrong though. Text me the address, and I’ll talk to some of the boys I trust to have a walk around”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks Sun…” The feline faunus can almost see the mental weight lifting off of her.</p><p> </p><p>“No problem! Although, I’m a bit curious how you know what to look for regarding a meth lab”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Detective Wukong,” Blake states, the cheerfulness in her voice forced past the sudden spike of anxiety that hits at that line of questioning, “that’s a story neither of us has the time for right now!”</p><p> </p><p>She can hear him groan even as she ends the call. She quickly checks the time and realizes she has about three minutes to get back to the car to meet Yang. Quickly she pockets the scroll and raises her hood back up over her cat ears. Then with shoulders slumped and hands stuffed into her jacket pockets, she steps back out of the alley and onto the street, a conversation from years ago playing in her head.</p><p> </p><p>Familiar eyes and a warm, rumbling voice.</p><p> </p><p><em> “... </em> <b> <em>always</em> </b> <em> think about the betterment of our people as a whole, no matter if that means defending each other from humanity, or from the actions of the selfish few, because </em> <b> <em>that</em> </b> <em> is our duty as faunus” </em></p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>--------------------------</p><p>
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</p><p>It was a little bit later in the evening than usual when Ruby Rose was finally able to relax from a full day of training properly, and she took to the act of doing <em> nothing </em> with the same focus and drive as she did mixed-martial-arts, flopping bonelessly onto her bed in her pyjama bottoms and a black tank top, dark red strands of dyed hair still wet from her shower sticking limply to her forehead that she was currently too lazy to swipe away.</p><p> </p><p>“Penny!” The younger Xiao Long-Rose daughter calls out in the silent bedroom, prompting the smart speaker her scroll was wirelessly connected to to thrum to life with a red glow that decidedly <em> fit </em> the gothic aesthetic of her room.</p><p> </p><p>“Salutations!” Came the chipper voice of the scroll’s Operating System. Some people held an odd dislike for the choice of voice that came equipped stock on almost all Atlesian brands of appliances, but PENNY never failed in bringing a smile to Ruby’s face with the odd mannerisms installed by a no doubt <em> odd </em> computer programmer somewhere at Polendina Tech.</p><p> </p><p>“Please put on my ‘Ruby is dying from the gym’ mix, volume at fifty percent, please!” Her older sister and her father liked to poke fun at the fact the silver-eyed woman would routinely be polite to her <em> smart speaker </em>, but it never dissuaded her from doing so.</p><p> </p><p>‘They’ll regret being rude to PENNY during the robot uprising’ her mind chimed.</p><p> </p><p>“Penny is entertainment ready! Now playing ‘Ruby is dying from the gym mix’!” The speaker bellowed before some light strings and bass started to pump through it. The sounds were much more mellow than the heavy percussion and bending guitar notes of the thrash and punk the dark-haired woman normally listened to.</p><p> </p><p>After a long day of pushing herself physically in the Team XL gym, it was fully intended to be.</p><p> </p><p>She feels her eyelids starting to grow heavy and immediately bolts up to a sitting position, giving her head a shake. She intended to relax, certainly, but falling asleep right now would be a supremely bad idea, she normally didn’t feel this bogged down until well after dinner.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, if she and her father had gotten home to Patch at their usual time, they would have already eaten and the silver-eyed fighter would have either found something to hold her attention more raptly or fallen asleep already, unfortunately her father got held up in a conference call with Uncle Qrow, the lawyers and Ozpin - the acting CEO of the Remnant Fighting League - and by the time two hours had passed, it was far too late for her to ask to crash at either her sister’s place or over at Weiss’.</p><p> </p><p>She can hear her father downstairs, hurriedly working to throw together a balanced and portioned meal for his youngest as quickly as he could, from the faint smell in the air, Ruby was expecting a chicken stir fry in teriyaki.</p><p> </p><p>The unexpectedly loud rumble of her stomach agrees.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles, thinking about how when they’d walked in the door she’d loudly stated that she was totally fine with ordering takeout, and tried to argue that even if it wasn’t her cheat day, she would be entirely fine since she wasn’t the one who had an upcoming fight.</p><p> </p><p>It was an argument that Taiyang Xiao Long immediately shot down with a pointed look and a light laugh that drifted into an easy smile as he pushed past her before she had the opportunity to level her infamously effective puppy dog eyes at him as he made his way through to the kitchen and started pulling out food.</p><p> </p><p>Despite being out the possibility of a greasy burger or takeout Mistrali, Ruby had still had a smile on her face when she’d gone upstairs to shower and change.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s come so far…” She mutters, whether to herself or to the vague, hopeful possibility that her mother was listening, she doesn’t know, but it brings a smile to her face all the same.</p><p> </p><p>Taiyang was known for being a great many things these days, a premiere coach and trainer, an excellent mixed-martial-artist during his heyday, the man who’d kept Team XL running through it’s darkest time, the fierce husband of Summer Rose, and the father of Yang and Ruby.</p><p> </p><p>Of that list, there were two things that mattered to Ruby more than anything, and though it hurt to acknowledge, when her father had lost her mother, he’d almost lost his daughters too.</p><p> </p><p>At the time it wasn’t overt, nor was it all that subtle, it just simply was. She loved her father unconditionally, and knew without a shred of doubt that Yang did too, but they knew now in hindsight what they’d struggled through with their surviving parent nearly clearly outlined that he wasn’t perfect.</p><p> </p><p>He’d started out strong, putting on a brave face to try and carry his girls through their individual pains and grief, to bring them through the worst of it so he could finally have time to mourn and heal himself. He still got up on time, he still took them to school and cooked their meals and tried to cover for the large, gaping hole in their lives,</p><p>‘</p><p>Then the wheels came off, slowly at first, then at such a rapidly accelerating pace that nobody could rightly keep up until they’d all nearly been crushed underneath the weight of it. It started with drinking, the occasional beer turning to a dozen in the blink of an eye, then the depressive episodes where he’d simply be too despondent to get out of bed, and the days of hunger because he’d forgotten to pick up groceries while out getting more alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>Yang was stronger, smarter and older. She was able to see the problem… but at the age of seven she had no way to fix it, no clue how to mend something as broken as their family, so instead, she focused on what she could do, and that was to follow the example of the late Summer Rose.</p><p> </p><p>She learned how to cook, how to clean. She figured out how to forge Taiyang’s signature on school forms and made sure Ruby made it to classes every single day. </p><p> </p><p>The whole time, Taiyang split his time between the Team XL gym, his disposition and focus so unpleasant and erratic that many, almost <em> all </em> of his upcoming prospects that he’d been cultivating for the sport he’d made his name in either severed ties to jump to other camps or quit the sport entirely, or his room. Only occasionally giving glimpses of his face when Yang demanded loudly enough that he eat, or that she needed money to keep her and her sister fed.</p><p> </p><p>Some memories were stark in Ruby’s mind, even at five years of age, the degradation of their once-happy family was shocking enough to make a lasting impression in her memory, but certain things still slipped past her, she doesn’t recall ever confronting her father at that age, although she’s certain she must have, she doesn’t have any remembrance of Yang breaking down and crying as things got tougher and darker for them, although Ruby knows she must have…</p><p> </p><p>… she does remember the turning point though.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers it because even at a young age, she absolutely adored her Uncle Qrow, and so was the happiest she’d ever been the day he barged in the front door of their house to bear witness to his nieces, parenting themselves, and Tai, his business partner, ex brother-in-law and best friend, passed out drunk in his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers her and Yang hugging one another as Qrow read Taiyang the riot act and told the girls to pack their things, they were coming to stay with him for the foreseeable future.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Ruby!” Her dad’s voice, clear, full of cheer and entirely without the rough gravel that used to occupy it after a night pouring whiskey down his throat calls out, “Get down here and set the table, food’s almost ready!”</p><p> </p><p>“Coming! Penny, stop playing music please” The younger Xiao Long-Rose sister calls over her shoulder before giving her head a shake and wiping at her now stinging eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The recollections of harder days were always hard. Of the days where Taiyang Xiao Long couldn’t even look at his youngest without the pain of grief ripping him apart, but these days  he showed time and again that he wouldn’t let anything get in the way of treating his daughters like they were the most important things in the world.</p><p> </p><p>As she walks out of the bedroom, casting wistful glances at the familiar lacquered wood walls and floor of their family home, the framed photos containing herself and her sister, of her father and her late mother, she can’t help but smile brightly as she remembers what her sister said shortly after they’d started to patch things up and rebuild their family.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sometimes Ruby,’ she can almost imagine Yang’s voice as it was then, squeaky like the child she was, but carrying far more gravitas than her ten-year-old self should have ever managed to contain, ‘a broken home <em> can </em> be fixed!’</p><p> </p><p>With that thought, Ruby runs downstairs to help her father.</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>…</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>An hour later Ruby was sat on the floor at the foot of her bed, music once again pumping from her smart speaker while she went through a final round of stretches to ensure she wouldn’t lock up overnight from her hard day’s training, her eyes were drooping and her head was bobbing even while she sat hunched forward, reaching out to lightly grasp her outstretched toes.</p><p> </p><p>The stir fry had been surprisingly heavy, her father having opted for traditional sticky rice and avoiding watering down the Teriyaki sauce, while also adding a far bit of tofu on the side to give the meal more body, and it was now rolling happily around in her slightly overstuffed stomach. The oncoming food coma and the siren’s song of her memory foam mattress mere feet away was subconsciously making her exhausted body and mind impatient to go to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>In fact she was just about to do just that when the music pouring out of her smart speaker was interrupted by the winging from her scroll. With a quirked eyebrow at the time - and seeing that they were nearing the witching hour of… nine in the Pee-Em - checked the caller ID.</p><p> </p><p>Seeing Yang’s name - listed creatively as ‘Yangtime’ - she taps the screen to accept the call and disconnects the speaker from its wireless connection.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s my <em> favorite </em> Big Sis’?” Ruby chirps brightly before stifling a yawn in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s doing just dandy an- waitaminute, do you have <em> another </em> big sis?!” Yang bellows in mock outrage, earning a snicker from the young Xiao Long-Rose.</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet, I put out feelers every so often just in case you need to be replaced. I know she might seem uninterested, but I’m hearing rumblings in the sibling market that Ilia is <em> very </em> interested in replacing you as my new big sis!” Even though the logical part of Ruby knows the chameleon faunus is nowhere near her, she still chances a worried glance over her shoulder, as though worried the ornery young woman would materialize from the ether at having her name invoked like that.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn, Ruby. I would have <em> accepted </em> Weiss pinch-hitting for me in the always unenviable task of keeping you in line… stop sticking your tongue out at me,” Yang admonishes, causing Ruby to stop making faces at the phone and consider giving her room a thorough once over to ensure her older sister wasn’t spying on her for some deranged reason, “but Ilia, really!?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have you know, Ilia Amitola never stole the first slice of strawberry cake at my birthday party!” The silver-eyed woman haughtily states.</p><p> </p><p>“I was eleven!” Yang exclaims, though Ruby can hear the smile in the boisterous blonde’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Memory like an elephant, Yang! I will never forget, and I will never forgive.,.. I’m like the mob if they also collected taxes!”</p><p> </p><p>“Then you’ll remember I only took that slice of cake as revenge for you beheading my favorite DunkelDoll in one of your deranged ‘Ruby Rose, Mad Science Woman Of The Underworld’ playdates!” Yang reminds her younger sibling.</p><p> </p><p>“... you can’t prove that…” Ruby winces at how unconvincingly that leaves her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Yang <em> did in fact </em> have video evidence of a nine-year-old Ruby, wearing a white kitchen apron, smeared with the pulpy remains of a container of long-expired maraschino cherries to simulate blood and gore, acting as a surgeons smock while she butchered several of their childhood toys with whatever she managed to prise out of their father’s home toolbox, all while laughing maniacally like she’d seen on television one night when their Uncle had forgotten to switch it off before he’d went to bed.</p><p> </p><p>The fact that Yang and their father had paid to have the moment transferred to newer, high-definition formats since it’s original recording was on old tapes meant that the quality of Ruby’s beheading of her sister’s favorite Dunkelman Doll - colloquially referred to by-and-large as DunkelDolls - had only improved.</p><p> </p><p>“Well if you’re going to be mean and in denial, I guess I can just hang up now,” Yang trails off and Ruby’s shoulders tense as she just knows by the tone in the blonde’s voice that she’s about to receive a fresh wave of torment, “since you obviously don’t want to hear about the plight of one poor Oscar Pine”</p><p> </p><p>“Darnit Yang…” With that Ruby flops face first into her pillow, burying the blush in her cheeks that she’s almost certain her sister can <em> feel </em> through the phone.</p><p> </p><p>The fact she can hear Yang breaking out into laughter does little to quell the familial tide of humiliation at her teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“You suck, Yang,” The silver-eyed woman knows the exclamation comes out in an ear splitting whine, but does little to stem the notion that her sister must be grinning smugly at the phone right now, “anyhow, give me details, how does his place look? Did you remember to pay him for the shirt? Come on, spill it!”</p><p> </p><p>“Slow down Rubes, I can’t take the time to properly torment you if you ask questions lucidly like that,” The lilac-eyed fighter chuckles, “and to answer your second question, <em> yes I paid him for the dust-damned Raven shirt </em>-”</p><p> </p><p>“Good!” Ruby interrupts, her tone a little bit sharper and more chiding than she intends, “Yeah it sucks you’re out some cash, but you shouldn’t have nearly ripped the poor guys’ head off for thinking he was doing you a favor!”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, sis...” Ruby can imagine the wince on the blonde’s normally smiling face at that, “... that’s why, in the interest of smoothing things over I also treated him to dinner before Blake and I dropped him off at his apartment!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s,” The dark-haired sister frowns at the small pang of jealousy that sparks in her chest at not getting to accompany them to take the farm boy home, but quickly squashes it down, “that’s good!”</p><p> </p><p>“I figured you’d appreciate that, wouldn’t want to be the reason your crush ran off” Yang chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright you butt, now listen here-”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s also probably a good thing you didn’t come with us, Ruby” Yang cuts her off, tone turning serious as the smile and sisterly teasing leaves her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“What!?” Ruby yelps, pushing herself up to sit properly as her brow furrows in confused concern, “Did he do something? Did <em> YOU </em>do something? WAIT! Is he married with three kids and I’m too late to woo him!?”</p><p> </p><p>“... w-woo hi- Dammit, no Ruby, nothing like that. It’s just that he would have been humiliated,” There’s a pause as Ruby waits for her sister to continue, “Oscar’s apartment is… well, to politely put it, it’s a dumpster fire…”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Ruby chews her lip a moment in thought, “I figured he would have been the neat and tidy sort…”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Ruby,” Yang sighs over the phone, “what I mean is that his apartment building - not just his apartment - should be condemned and bulldozed to the ground. The entire place smells like cat piss and rotten eggs, I stepped over syringes in the fucking hallways, when Oscar turned on his kitchen light I could <em> hear cockroaches </em> skittering across the floor to hide, and his greasy ass landlord who has the balls to charge Oscar <em> four-hundred-Lien </em> a month rent eye-banged me so flagrantly I might have caught syphilis-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ew!” Ruby barely manages to retain the gag that threatens to start her heaving.</p><p> </p><p>“- and farm boy was so embarrassed it even made me cringe, because it’s the only place he’s been able to afford, and without any work he’s been struggling to keep even <em> that </em> roof over his head,” A long sigh reverberates through the phone, “so yeah, probably a good thing you didn’t tag along this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds horrible, Yang!” Ruby exclaims, active imagination starting to flip through and alter how she’d imagined the young brunet man’s living space to look and - going off of her sister’s descriptors - it wasn’t pretty, “I totally should have come, I wou-”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d what sis?”  Yang cuts in, “You’d have shuffled him out to the car and tried to convince dad to let him move in?”</p><p> </p><p>A long moment of silence follows as Ruby runs through a list of rapid responses to that accusation and finds she simply can’t respond to it properly… mainly because that would mean admitting Yang was <em> absolutely, </em> <b> <em>annoyingly</em> </b> <em> right </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh…” she finally grunts out before flopping back down onto her bed, this time on her back.</p><p> </p><p>“Buck up Ruby, I doubt Oscar would have accepted anyone’s offer to help him on that level,” A light chuckle, “also, dad would rather skin him alive than let you try to bring a stray home <em> again… </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re never gonna let me forget the <em> Awesome-Possum Adoption </em> scandal, are you?” The silver-eyed woman groans.</p><p> </p><p>“Never, not even when old age and dementia sets in,” The blonde chuckles in response, “but shut your cakehole, because your awesome big sister has a plan to help your crush, but I’m going to need your help convincing dad to go along with it”</p><p> </p><p>Well <em> that </em> was an interesting proposal.</p><p> </p><p>“... what did you have in mind?” Ruby whispers, as though suddenly afraid that her father had the ability to know when his daughters were scheming something, vevn from the other side of the house.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” Yang begins, “so you know how the gym hasn’t been properly cleaned ever since Tukson gave his notice, right? Well I was thinking…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hooooooooboy it has been awhile and I'm sorry for that.</p><p>This chapter, specifically the Blake portion, was a specific challenge to put Blake into this sort of situation, but also give her motivation as to why while simultaneously moving several facets of the story forward. It took some time, and altering how I was going to use Blake within the story very slightly, but I hope it came together in a better way than I feel I did.</p><p>Also, hello government agents tracking me now that I searched up "How to identify a meth lab" into several search engines!</p><p>I did it for the fanfiction.</p><p>On the flip side, I love putting Taiyang's episode of grief from canon into the context of a gym owner/MMA coach, because within MMA, with all the strong personalities, egos and intense career-long focus and drive-to-succeed even a mediocre pro fighter puts into their career, breaking the trust of even a few people in a camp can be devastating and lose a respected coach the confidence of their fighters very, VERY quickly.</p><p>The struggles of Team XL's fight camp pre=story is definitely going to get focused on down the line.</p><p>Next chapter will also be Oscar free - sorry - but it is going to be Ilia and Weiss focused! Yay!</p><p>On the NON-Life-In-The-Clinch fic front, if any of you car, Feral Soul should be getting a new chapter shortly, and I've been thinking of uploading a one-shot collection of snippets from other RWBY story ideas I have but currently don't have the time to explore further, just to gauge interest and to get some of the ideas put to page.</p><p>As always kudos, constructive criticism and comments will always be appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by some fan art I saw of the RWBY cast in UFC gear.</p><p>I haven't really got this plotted out step-by-step in my head, I'm more trying to just... fake it til it resembles a story. The tags will be updated as needed, as I have several other rough ideas for how this can evolve as I write it, hopefully the people that read it feel somewhat intrigued.</p><p>Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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